


The Intervention

by Huggle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels are Dicks, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Sam Winchester, Brainwashing, Crying Castiel, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hurt Castiel, Kidnapped Castiel, M/M, Manhandling, Mental Coercion, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Restraints, Sexual Coercion, Supernatural Kink Meme, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5878126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything that's ever gone wrong in Castiel can be traced back to Dean Winchester.  </p>
<p>He's taken an angel, a child of God, a soldier of Heaven and <i>ruined</i> him.</p>
<p>But there are ways to deal with such things.</p>
<p>Castiel will be saved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hello, _Asstiel_. It actually is a surprise seeing you here. A welcome one, though.”

That voice stirred an immediate reaction in him; for its owner to be so close meant danger and pain and Cas reacted accordingly. He pushed himself to his feet and finding the source to be standing a few feet away from him – _how_ – turned to flee.

He collided with the bars of Metatron’s prison cell and staggered back, unsteady and confused. Behind him, the scribe fell into a bout of wheezy laughter. Cas spun around and shoved his back against the bars, almost frozen in place by the realisation that he was trapped inside a cell with the angel who had taken him prisoner and sliced him open to steal his grace.

Tears trickling from his eyes, Metatron gave him a shrug. “I asked for a single but they screw everything up around here. I did complain, so I guess them shoving you in here is like the maid leaving an extra mint on the pillow. Just so much sweeter.”

It was reflex to try and summon his blade, but he wasn’t surprised when his hand remained empty. If he had been taken – and he clearly had been – then his siblings would hardly have let him remain armed.

But putting him in here, with Metatron? The cruelty of it was like a heavy blow and, mingled with the cold fear at the scribe’s presence, was enough to rob him of his self-control.

“Don’t come near me,” he warned, aware of how ridiculous a demand it was. The cell was small, Metatron was unrestrained, and he himself was weaponless and faced with one of the most powerful creatures in Heaven.

If Metatron chose to avenge himself in the confines of this prison, Cas knew there was nothing he could do to prevent him.

“Really?” Metatron smirked at him. “Like, oh, this?” He hopped forward and stopped, glancing down at his feet. 

Castiel felt the bars digging into him as he pushed himself backwards even without realising it. “Stop.”

The scribe shuffled forward another few feet, the approach mocking and childish. “Gonna make me, Cas? You want to draw a line down the room, your side, my side?” He snickered at him. “You’re pathetic.”

Cas fought to shove down the fear. If they were both incarcerated in Heaven’s gaol, then they were both as good as powerless. The cells and the prison itself would be warded to limit the inmates. In here, he should have been on as equal a footing with Metatron as it was possible to be but it seemed small comfort.

Even if Metatron had been human and in chains, Cas knew he would have suffered the same reaction. Being near him was torture in and of itself, and he didn’t know how he was expected to turn his back on the creature before him.

He didn’t dare look away, and there was a hunger in Metatron’s eyes. He was familiar with the look – before he’d known the scribe’s plans, he’d seen that hunger then too but had taken it for a desire to make things right. 

He’d realised too late the hunger was for him, for the grace of Heaven that burned through him. Metatron had looked upon him as the key to lock the gates, and used him brutally for that purpose.

The last time Castiel had seen him was when he’d returned the wounded angel at the gateway, unable to look his sister in the eyes as she took custody of Metatron from him. He’d promised her the scribe would be returned unharmed, and yet the marks of Dean’s anger and thirst for revenge were all over him. 

He understood Dean’s wrath – the thought of his friend’s death at Metatron’s hands still hurt – but he had given assurances, and Dean’s actions had set him back immensely. Possibly robbed him of the trust of the last remaining angels who didn’t have cause to immediately view him with suspicion.

Was that, he wondered, why he was here? He didn’t even remember being taken or by who, or even when.

“How long?” he managed, forcing the words out of a throat that felt constricted by a panic he was barely keeping hold of. “How long have I been in here?”

The thought of being unconscious in the scribe’s presence was nightmarish, but Dean still bore the Mark and every day pushed him closer to becoming Cain. Sam couldn’t contain his brother alone. 

And…worrying about them helped distract him a little from fearing the thing they’d shoved him in with.

“Like I’ve been keeping count. Let me guess. Pining for your owners, right?” Metatron huffed at him. “Like I said, pathetic. Bet they’ve got you chipped. Possibly neutered. Mind if I check?”

He took another step forward and then chuckled, waving a hand at Castiel. “Oh, look at you. Fine, fine. I don’t want you pissing yourself, not if we’re sharing. Relax, you ridiculous little thing. I’m not bored enough yet to play with you.”

Castiel didn’t dare trust that assurance. He wondered if Metatron was still scripting events in his head, laying out his story and bending and breaking his _characters_ so they fit neatly into the framework of his plot.

He wanted to utter defiance, but the scribe had turned away from him and he couldn’t do anything to bring himself back to being his focus.

It didn’t matter, not for long; a moment later he heard footsteps, and then four angels were standing outside of the cell.

He vaguely recognised the male at the front, tall as Sam and well-muscled. He held a set of manacles in his hands and they clanked together as he showed them to Cas.

“These are going on you,” he said. His voiced was laced with hate, and Cas wondered how many of his brothers and sisters he barely knew or had never met held such malice for him. “You can struggle if you like, it won’t make any difference. I actually hope you do.”

Castiel could see the other three angels felt the same; they wanted to hurt him, the thirst for his pain barely hidden. 

If there had been a better chance, he might have fought. But with no recollection of how he’d come to be here, unarmed and not sure what the circumstances were to have justified his imprisonment, there had to be a better moment to resist.

“I won’t,” he said, and Metatron muttered under his breath, something about being deprived a show.

“Be quiet, scribe,” one of the angels snapped.

The cell door opened, and Castiel turned around as he was bid. The manacles hung heavy and tight around his wrists, forcing an unpleasant tug in his shoulders as they were pulled back, and then he was yanked into the hall.

He heard the cell door being closed behind him, and Metatron’s mocking voice calling after him.

“You can tell me all about it when you get back, Castiel! If you can still speak!”


	2. Chapter 2

“Dammit.”

Dean crouched down and scooped up what was left of the cell phone he’d given Cas. The screen was smashed into a crazy mosaic, the casing cracked. He knew what a stomped on cell looked like and he doubted Cas had taken a hairy fit and did the damage himself.

He straightened up as Sam came over, and his brother’s face didn’t look like he had any good news.

“Tell me,” he said.

Sam motioned back to the small diner he’d come from. The waitress he’d questioned was standing outside, smoking, and watching them with blatant curiosity. 

“She says a guy fitting Castiel’s description was staying over in the motel and came in last night around eight. She remembers him because he didn’t look too good and all he did was drink coffee. A lot of it.”

Dean squeezed his hand around the broken phone, pretending for a minute it was the stupid angel’s neck. “I knew letting him head out on his own was a bad idea.”

“Dean,” Sam said. “You couldn’t exactly ground him or lock him in his room. And we need all the help we can get if we’re going to get rid of the Mark.”

“I get it,” Dean said. “But he’s walking around with septic shock or something because he’s stuffed full of the wrong grace-type.”

Sam gave him one of his dubious looks, and Dean waved him off. “Ok, I get it, that’s not _angel biology_ or anything. So, he was here, then what? He wasn’t?”

“Pretty much. He paid up, went outside to his car, and the last she saw he was talking to three guys and two women. All in suits.”

Dean glanced at Castiel’s car. Doors still locked, engine cold. “Great. Suits.”

“And the clincher is that she says she cleared his table and when she looked back out of the window, all six of them had just vanished.”

He felt a little sick even though he wasn’t surprised. There were only two groups he figured were interested enough in Cas to stage a kidnapping and do it dressed like stockbrokers. 

“There’s no sulphur,” he told Sam, “so that rules out Crowley’s personal hit squad. Which leaves us with Cas’s everloving family. I don’t know who’s worse.”

“He said he was trying to build bridges,” Sam said. “Maybe if they did take him, they won’t hurt him, Dean. Maybe they just want to talk.”

“And Cas’s phone got smashed up during some over enthusiastic chit-chat.”

Dean looked over to see that the waitress had gone back inside the diner. It took him ten seconds to jimmy open the door to Castiel’s car, and only a few more to hot wire it. 

He got back out and Sam slid in behind the wheel. “If all they wanted was a cosy chat, Cas would have been waiting in his motel room for us. They yanked him back upstairs, Sammy. Back to bible class.”

Sam paled, and Dean didn’t feel happy at the memory either. Whatever was done in cloud cuckoo land to discipline unruly angels, their equivalent of the naughty step had turned Cas into a Stepford angel.

That was back when he was chock full of his own grace. The same treatment, now, if that was their intent – it might kill him. But maybe that was the idea. 

“If they just wanted him dead, Dean,” Sam said, like he could read where Dean was going with everything they’d found out so far, “they’d have just ganked him here. Left him for us to find.”

That wasn’t a comforting thought, but Sam was right. Killing was easier than kidnapping, and it gave them time to figure out what to do. 

Time probably being spent by Cas having hot needles shoved under his fingernails or whatever other fucked up torture his family could design.

He remembered Alfie then, strapped in that chair with huge screws twisted into his head and his own blood covering his face.

“How the hell do we get him back, Sam? If they took him back upstairs?”

Sam, Sam who usually had the answers to most of their problems, or at least knew where to start looking, gave a helpless shrug. “I wish I knew. It’s not like there’s a civilian entrance. And I doubt our names are on the guest list.”

Dean snorted at that idea. “We’ll be on a list,” he said. “Probably the smite on sight one. Ok, follow me back to the bunker. If there is a way to get in there and snatch him back, I bet it’ll be in one of the books. Thousand years of knowledge, you’d think one of the Men might have stumbled over a secret entrance or something. You know, a way in that doesn’t involve being dead.”

He jogged over to the Impala, and got in. Maybe it was pointless – if Cas could hear him, and things were as bad as Dean feared, he figured the angel would be too distracted to be listening out for him, but he had to try.

_I don’t know if you can hear this, Cas. I hope you can, dude. We know they took you and we’re going to get you back. Just…don’t give up, okay? Whatever they’re doing to you right now, we’ll make them stop and we’ll bring you home. Have faith in us, Cas. Please._

As he guided the car into the road, he wondered if other angels could hear him too. And even though he knew it was stupid, he couldn’t help himself.

_As for the rest of you feathered fucks, think hard before you put a hand on him. ‘Cause we’ve ganked angels for less and whatever you do to him, I’m gonna do worse to you._

Bold words, he knew, but he doubted it’d make much difference to Castiel’s predicament. He’d never seen any angel back down from him or Sam, even when they had twenty or more kills under their belt. Heaven probably wasn’t too impressed with the Winchesters, which just went to prove how dumb they were up there.

The will of Heaven had met and broken upon their resolve, not once, not even twice, and yet they still didn’t get that it was possible for two humans to jam up the works bad enough to ruin everything.

If those two humans were them, and that was before they had an archive full of lore and weapons at their disposal.

He told himself Cas’s brothers and sisters didn’t stand a chance, but there was a fear gnawing at him that it was the other way around.

They didn’t stand a chance of rescuing their angel, and he was probably never going to see Castiel again.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a long time since Castiel had been inside the Curia. 

He kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring the muttering and the looks he could feel from the angels gathered to left and right of him. He was still flanked by the four angels who’d taken him from Metatron’s cell, and while he was grateful to be away from the scribe at least there he’d known what he was dealing with and what to expect.

But this was different.

There was a long table at the head of the room, and he was surprised that he didn’t recognise any of the angels sitting in judgement. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been; he’d killed thousands of his siblings after consuming the souls from Purgatory – angels he’d probably never even heard of must have been quickly promoted to fill any vacant positions of responsibility.

The woman in the centre, her vessel older with gray hair pulled back from her face in a style that made her appear harsh and determined, stood up as he approached.

“Castiel,” she said. She motioned to a spot directly in front of the table. The tall angel who’d cuffed him took hold of his arms and positioned him there like a piece to be moved to where it was required.

Perhaps nothing had changed.

“Why am I here?” he demanded. There were a few astonished gasps from the audience but he refused to be cowed. “Why did you take me?”

She continued as if he’d never spoken. “Castiel, I am Devorah. You have been brought here, home, because we have concerns over you. That you have strayed from the path.”

Castiel looked around him. Concern was not the primary emotion he was picking up from the assembled angels. 

“There is no path,” he said. “There hasn’t been one for some time. Not since our Father left and the likes of Michael and Uriel corrupted the purpose for our creation.”

Devorah nodded silently, and raised a hand to quiet the murmurs of discontent his comments had caused. “It is a fair point,” she said, her voice carrying around the chamber. “But you can’t believe what you’re doing – what you have done – is any better.”

Castiel wanted to look away from her, from the way her gaze seemed to pierce him grace deep, but he held her stare. If this was a trial, and he was here to be judged – and he was sure of that, despite her talk of concerns – he would have to be careful.

But he would not deny that there were charges they could raise here of which the only just outcome would be a verdict of guilty.

“I don’t regret refusing to allow the senseless destruction of billions of people. I do regret what came after but at the time there didn’t seem to be any other way.”

He didn’t see the blow coming, but it caught him in the middle of his back, a punch that drove him to his knees.

“Enough!” Devorah said, her voice sharp. Castiel managed to look round enough to see his chief captor standing there, his face twisted by hate. But he stepped back at Devorah’s command.

No one moved to help him, and he didn’t want their help. He got painfully to his feet and willed his grace to heal the cracks in his spine from the attack. 

“You misunderstand us, Castiel. I can see you believe this to be a tribunal of sorts, where your guilt or innocence is to be decided. But we are not here to sit in judgement over you. We are here to help you, Castiel, not to harm you.”

He shook his head, glared at her. “I don’t need your help.” 

“Really.” Devorah came around from behind the table, and stood in front of him. “You have fallen, Castiel. Yours has been a turbulent existence, brother. I’m aware of the pain and punishment inflicted on you, and yes – it has been harsh. But all of it can be traced back to two key moments. With hindsight, you were perhaps not the best choice for the mission given to you.”

He could see where this was leading, at which point they thought he’d stepped off their much lauded ‘path’. But when he tried to speak, Devorah pressed her hand across his mouth and he couldn’t dislodge it. Her grace settled around him, heavy and smothering, but he could sense she viewed it differently. She saw it as comforting, a secure way of handling a younger angel who was in desperate need of correction.

He felt more afraid then than he had waking up to find himself trapped with Metatron.

“Yes, I believe you know,” she said. “Firstly, when you were sent into Heaven to rescue the righteous man. How we were all deceived on that one.”

Despite himself, Castiel shook his head, trying to shake off her hand. It was futile.

“And then when you defied Zachariah and took him away. Not all of us wanted the death of the world, of the humans, Castiel. But it wasn’t our choice, and it wasn’t yours. And we have weighed up your actions then and since, and all of them lead back to that one man: Dean Winchester.

“He is a stain upon you, Castiel. He is the devil, to be able to lure an angel to do such dark things. It is true, what your brethren have said about you. The moment you laid hand upon him in hell, you were lost. His flesh corrupted you, Castiel, and the decay it’s caused in you has spread and worsened each time you’ve touched him since.”

Castiel shook his head again, more violently this time, wishing she would allow him to speak in his own defence and to question why she thought touching Dean was enough to taint him. 

“Easy, it will be alright,” she said, interpreting his reaction as regret. “Severe as all this has become, none of it is really your fault, Castiel, your blame to bear. We can help you, and we will. We are your family, not those two humans who have used you so cruelly and brought you to this.”

She removed her hand, and her grace, and Castiel knew it was a human reaction, but he felt as though she’d been suffocating him. He drew in a breath, instinct, hard to fight after so many years in what had been a vessel but was now more his body than his true form.

“Everything I did was my own choice,” he told her. “I did it for them, for those people entrusted to us who our brothers would have seen dying in torment, and I did it for me. If there is any blame, then I bear some of it but Heaven bears more.”

There was a stunned silence, and that roused the fear in him again. But what else could he do? He would not lie, or drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. He couldn’t, and he doubted that it would help him any.

Whatever they had decided to do with him, it was a decision already made before they’d ever taken him from Earth. 

Devorah gave him a sad smile. “We’d expected you to be resistant. Winchester has had ownership of you for so long now that the taint is deep. Worsened by the _bond_ you share.”

She said it as if it was the most distasteful thing she’d ever encountered, a blasphemy of sorts. 

“But we can purge you of it, Castiel, and of him. Bring you back to who you were, and who you should be.”

He snarled as hands seized him and hauled him away from her. “What are you going to do? Tell me!”

“We are going to save you, Castiel. And then you will never see either of those humans again.”

He struggled as hard as he could, but the angels holding him were too strong and too many in number. “No!” he yelled as they dragged him out. “I have to go back to them. Devorah, please!”

Castiel almost screamed that Dean bore the Mark, but he held back on it. For all he knew they had no direct plans involving the Winchesters. If they knew that Cain had contaminated Dean, that might change.

She shook her head sadly at him. “Give us time, Castiel. Time to break his hold on you, to free you from his unholy lease. He will be no more than a regretful memory.”

A cold hand settled on the back of his neck, and the chill spread through his skin and downwards inside of him. Someone muttered at him in Enochian and he struggled even more as the spell worked its way inside him.

“To keep you calm,” someone said. “To stop you fighting so much. We are not doing any of this to hurt you.”

He could feel it settling over him, in him, stealing his will and his strength. His body sagged in their grip, and it was all he could do to raise his head and stare at them. 

“But sometimes,” the voice continued, “pain is a sign of healing.”


	4. Chapter 4

Hours of scouring the books gathered in the bunker’s library yielded nothing that could help them sneak into Heaven.

Dean drained his glass, grimacing at the burn as the whiskey went down straight, and shoved the latest tome aside. 

“So much for a thousand years of lore,” he snapped. “Fucking useless.”

Sam raised bleary eyes to meet his. His little brother looked exhausted. “There has to be something,” he said, but Dean could hear the worry in his voice. Even he was starting to doubt that the Men of Letters, for all their magical knowledge, had managed to pull off a Heavenly break in. “We know they interacted with angels. They were a secret society, Dean. I can’t believe they didn’t even think about it.”

Dean took the book back to the shelves and crammed it roughly between two others. It was probably in the wrong place but he didn’t care. He might as well take the whole lot and go burn them outside for all the help they’d been.

They’d started researching the minute they got back to the bunker, and all that time down here was who knew how long in Heaven. Given what he’d imagined was being done to Cas, it had probably seemed longer for him.

If he was still alive.

He felt a dark burn course through him, and when he looked down at the Mark he saw it flare red against his skin.

_I get it_ , he snarled inwardly. _You want up there too, any excuse for a little bloodshed. Well, when we find a way to bust into Heavenly Gitmo I’ll feed you every damn one of them. Just as long as we get Cas back._

He didn’t realise Sam was looking at him until his brother called his name. 

“Dean. Is it…. Is it doing anything?”

He looked down and realised he’d rolled up his sleeve and was fingering the Mark. “No,” he lied. “I’m just… Jesus, Sam, he could be dead by now.”

Sam looked forlorn at the thought, but he nodded. “Yeah, he could be. But you know Cas as well as I do – he knows we need him, Dean; if there’s a way to hang on, even to get out himself, then he’ll find it so he can get back to us. The crap we’ll seen him pull off – it wouldn’t surprise me if he just shows up at the door any minute.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, but figured the wishful thinking might be what was keeping Sam going. His brother cared for Cas just as much as he did – he was their family, another Winchester in all but name, and he’d proven it in blood. 

He just couldn’t go through losing Cas again, or Sam. He knew he just wouldn’t survive it.

“Dean,” Sam said.

“I know,” Dean groaned. “I get it – he’s a scrappy little angel, probably on his way back already.” 

_Probably never going to see him again_.

“No, I found something.”

Dean snapped his attention back to his brother and watched as Sam carried a book over to him. It looked more like a journal, and its condition wasn’t typical of the other books in the library.

“That was in the stacks?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “No. I boxed up some of the personal effects when we starting clearing out the rooms, and I found this in among them. Figured since the library wasn’t helping I might see if there was anything in here that would. Listen to this:

_And while I know my fellows would frown upon my involvement with a creature of the Pit, or cast me out altogether, I cannot turn back now._

_One of them – it calls itself Edmund – believes itself capable of delivering the Scroll to me. It won’t tell me how, but since the item itself is still secure in Paradise, the thing clearly must be able to enter and leave of its own accord._

_This notion troubles me, but once I have what I need I will persuade the demon to tell me how it was able to enter Heaven, and then do what I can to close that gate – at least to the denizens of Hell.”_

Dean took the book from him, and flipped through the rest of the pages, but they were blank. “What, that’s it?”

“Looks like,” Sam said. He gave a sad shrug. “Look at the date of that entry. It’s only a few days before Abaddon blitz attacked them. Maybe she wasn’t just out to stop them using the cure they found.”

Dean shoved past the memory of Henry dying in Sam’s arms, and remembered how desperate Abaddon had been. Not just to kill the Men of Letters, though he figured that had probably floated her boat big time, but to get into the bunker. Maybe whoever wrote the journal had managed to get the Scroll, and Abaddon had come after it.

What was it that it could be so important? And where was it now?

But that didn’t matter, not now, and not since Abaddon was dead and the bunker still secure. All that did matter was that apparently there was a way to sneak into Heaven.

“You think Edmund’s still not-alive and kicking?”

Sam had closed the journal over. “From that last entry, I doubt it. Even he if was, and we summoned him – we’re not exactly Hell’s favourite people.”

“I know – I feel all warm and toasty inside just thinking about it. Guess we go to the top then.”

“Crowley?” Sam’s voice was incredulous.

“Easy,” Dean said. “You’re gonna break the windows if you go any more choir boy on me. Unless you know another demon we’ve got half a chance of persuading to help us.”

“And how are you going to persuade him?”

It was a good question, and one summoning spell later, with Crowley glowering at them from the wrong side of a devil’s trap, Dean still didn’t have an answer.

Crowley glanced at his watch. “King of Hell,” he reminded them. “I’ve got a busy day today, boys, so maybe for once we can skip the foreplay. What is it now?”

Dean knew Sam was watching him, and he wasn’t surprised when Sam stepped forward. “We need to break into Heaven.”

It was maybe the first time Dean had ever seen Crowley speechless. But he got over it quickly.

“Oh. Alright then. Are you two fucking insane? Break into Heaven. Why would you need to, anyway? You’ve got your feathered pet, why don’t you have him slink back into the family home for whatever you’re after?”

Dean wasn’t going to give Crowley the satisfaction, but the demon wasn’t stupid. He’d figure it out any time in the next few seconds.

“Or has he finally got too weak to help? On the cusp, is he? No, that’s not it.” Crowley stared at them. Then a cruel smirk twisted at his lips. “Oh, how sweet. His beloved kin hauled him back upstairs for a reunion, have they? And you want to ride to his rescue like some pathetic knight in shabby denim riding that wreck of a charger.”

“Can you get us in or not?” Dean snarled at him. “If not, get the fuck out.”

Crowley pointed at the markings on the floor. “Break the trap and I’ll be happy to leave you two morons to it. Neither one of you have said what’s in it for me.”

“Then it’s true?” Sam sounded astonished, like he’d thought that journal had been one big fucking lie. “You can get us in?”

“King. Of. Hell.” Crowley stared at them as if he was addressing two kids who’d been held back a year. “But the best weapons are those seldom used. So, again, what’s in it for me?”

Dean could feel Sam’s frustration. There wasn’t a damn thing they had in their possession that would be worth Crowley’s help. But still, he’d asked twice now, and Dean was used to Crowley’s attempts at manipulation.

What did he have to trade? Nothing. So maybe Crowley was interested in something he _didn’t_.

“If they break Cas, or kill him – if we don’t get him back… You’ll never see the Blade again.”

Crowley gave him a studied look. “So he didn’t tell you where he planked it. Interesting. Lover boy doesn’t trust you. He’s smarter than he looks.”

Dean felt the thrum of anger vibrate through him. “He’s been smart enough to own your ass a few times, you smug bastard. We lose Cas, you lose the Blade.”

“And even if I help you with this ill-begotten plan, I still won’t have it. I don’t see how this changes our positions, boys. If I can’t get my property back either way, then I’ll just content myself with the thought of Castiel enjoying his family’s hospitality. Ahhh, good times.”

Dean flew at him before Sam could stop him, and took him down to the ground. He slammed his fist into Crowley’s face, felt skin bruise and break under his strength. The Mark roared inside of him, and Dean fought to keep its anger separate from his own. It didn’t care about Castiel, and its reaction at him being in trouble was just it sniffing blood in the water. 

But it was hard not to get carried away by it, by the thought of sating it with the blood of the people standing between him and his angel. Sam was on him, then, hauling him back out of the trap, yelling his name.

“Alright,” Dean panted, shrugging him off. “Alright, I got it.”

Crowley hauled himself to his feet, and tugged his jacket down to sit neatly. “What makes you think,” he yelled, “that punching me in the face is going to make me want to help you? Same tired old routine. What’s next? Knives? Sanctified blood? Winchester home videos? Oh, scratch that last one. I forgot, you don’t have any, do you?”

Dean fought the urge to lunge at him again and this time to take his demon knife and shove it up through his jaw. “You help us rescue Cas, I’ll get him to give me the blade.”

Crowley rocked his head from side to side gently, lips pursed. “And…..”

“Dean,” Sam warned, but Dean waved him off. They were out of options.

“And then I’ll give it to you.”

Crowley grinned at him, all self-satisfaction. “Now that is how you make a deal, squirrel. Though I have to say, given the body art you’re sporting, it might be a better idea if Castiel gives it to Sam and then he gives it to me. The Blade, of course. Unless you’re all suddenly into that kind of thing. What happens in the bunker stays in the bunker, of course. I’m not judgemental in the least.”

Before Dean could speak, Sam strode forward. Dean could see how pissed he was, but he hadn’t expected to have to barter the Blade for Crowley’s help. He should have, so maybe the Mark was screwing up his head even more than he thought. All it seemed interested in was just how quickly he’d feed it again, though he’d felt it perk up even more when the Blade was mentioned.

He watched as Sam stopped at the edge of the trap. “I’m warning you once,” he told the demon. “You try to screw us over and we’ll kill you.”

“Right back at you,” Crowley said. “We’ve all been on this rollercoaster before. But now I’ll warn you – this will be quite the ride, boys. Getting you up there? Piece of piss. But finding your fine feathered friend, sneaking him out from under their noses, and then busting back out? That’s the hard part.”

“Like we don’t know,” Dean muttered. “So? Let’s do it.”


	5. Chapter 5

By the time he fought his way out from under the spell, they had him restrained.

He was on some kind of table that was angled, allowing he supposed easy access for whatever they had planned. Wide leather straps were fastened around his wrists and ankles, and another stretched tightly across his hips. All of them bore limiting wards, not unlike the ones in use in the cells; he could feel the pressure of them pushing down on him.

Castiel felt panic start to overtake him. He couldn’t survive another attempt at re-education; the last one had been agony, even when he had still been connected to the Host. Now, with only stolen grace and not much of that, he knew such harsh treatment would end him.

But if he gave in, then he _would_ die, and he was suddenly determined it not be here and the result of his family’s allegedly well-meant concerns.

He took a slow look around him. The area immediately around the table he was tied to was surrounded by a circle of brightness. But beyond it, everything was lost to shadow. Even with his true sight, he couldn’t perceive anything within its depths.

Still, he had no doubt that one or more of them were hidden there. Waiting for the right moment; in some ways, they were more lovers of drama than Crowley.

“I know you’re there,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

A male, around the same height as Metatron, stepped into the light. He was dressed in a plain grey suit, and as Castiel watched he snapped his fingers. A trolley rolled into his reach, and he picked up a white tabard and put it on.

“Castiel, my name is Vincent. We haven’t met.”

“I want to speak to Devorah.”

“Mmm. I don’t see why. You’ve been the subject of many a heated discussion here. What should be done about you. To you. There was a large camp that wanted you to be put down, Castiel.” Vincent raked Castiel with his eyes, a cold hard look that made the angel shiver. “That felt it would be kinder. But Devorah always loved a lost cause. So it falls to me to fix you.”

“I don’t need to be fixed.” He tugged at the straps binding him but they didn’t give and all it earned him was pain as they scoured his skin and a tsk from Vincent.

“That’s pointless, fighting, but from what I’ve learned of you I can’t say I’m surprised. And yes, you are in need of repair, Castiel. It’s a sign of how bad things are that you don’t realise it. Sad, that a human could bring one of us down to this level. Inflict so much damage.”

He turned his attention to the trolley, and Castiel’s gaze followed. Some of the items he recognised and he bit back on a groan, remembering the previous occasions he’d been rendered helpless and tortured by his siblings. But though Vincent’s hands hovered over the long metal rods that could crack Castiel open, he eventually settled on a short bladed knife.

“I’m not… I’m not damaged,” Castiel forced out, as Vincent picked up the knife and held it up in the light. As though there was any doubt the edge would be sharp enough to cut.

The other angel leaned against the edge of the table and gave Castiel a pitying look. “You don’t really believe that, do you, Castiel? Dean Winchester has been your undoing. There isn’t a part of you that he hasn’t sullied and I’ll be honest with you – I was one of the ones who thought you were too broken to save. But I’ve been given a job to do, and I will carry out my orders. I still remember obedience, Castiel. But don’t worry: by the time we’re done here, you will too.”

**

Castiel didn’t remember much of the next while, or how much time actually passed under Vincent’s care. He faded in and out, shivering even though the temperature of the room shouldn’t have had any effect on him whether he was naked or not.

He’d protested loudly as Vincent sliced off his shirt and pants, laid everything open. Vincent had simply shaken his head, muttered something about how only the vessel was being exposed not him and how it was just another sign of how far he’d fallen.

Castiel did remember yelling at one point that he wasn’t the only one and Vincent did something then with his hands that drove a spike of pain through him so intense he blacked out.

When he came to, the pain had retreated to the very edges of his awareness, but he was loath to do anything to drag it back to his core. He watched warily as Vincent wiped his hands on the front of his tabard, leaving bloody smudges dark against the white.

“You are a sorry creature, Castiel. How could you allow the likes of that man to sully you in such a way?”

Castiel tried to focus on what Vincent was saying but he felt fevered and distant from everything around him. “He didn’t… I don’t know what you mean. What you want.”

Again, Vincent came to lean on the table. Castiel didn’t have the strength to try and pull away – it would have been pointless anyway, and some part of him was loath to give his abuser the satisfaction. 

“What I mean, Castiel, is that while some of us think you were lost to Heaven the moment you pulled Dean Winchester from Hell, I disagree. I think it was only when you let your righteous man touch you, _take you_ , that you were truly damned. You were a soldier, Castiel. A creation of God, built to carry out his will. And you let that corruption spill his seed in you. It’s honestly something I can’t understand. Why you would give yourself to any of them, let alone him.”

It took him a moment, his awareness hazy and the pain starting a resurgence, but he finally understood what they thought he’d done to warrant the extra effort Vincent was expending for him.

“You’re mad,” he managed. “He’s my friend. They both are.”

“Ah, yes, the boy with the demon blood. Did you let him fuck you as well? Did his semen not scald you, Castiel? I suppose not, if you did. You haven’t been an angel for some time. I imagine anything holy left in you was scraped out by Dean Winchester.”

Castiel knew he was wasting his words, but hearing him speak about them that way made him angry and the anger gave him strength. Defiance. “The only things scraped out of me, Vincent, were the things that had to be. The things angels like you put in me. And I did that myself. Dean’s never touched me, or Sam; you’re right about me no longer being an angel, and there was a time I wept for that. But if this is what we’ve become – torturing our siblings under the pretence of healing them – then the loss isn’t something to grieve over.”

He didn’t see the blow coming, a back-handed slap that snapped his head to the side and almost drove him back into unconsciousness.

Vincent yanked his hair, tugging his head back around so Castiel had to face him. “You. You’re judging me. There is nothing lower in God’s existence than you, Castiel. Yet you’re actually looking down on me!”

He raised his hand, this time letting his fingers crush themselves into a fist, but before he could strike a hand grabbed his wrist and he was pulled back.

Vincent spun around with a snarl but he took a wary step back when Hannah pushed her way between them. “Hannah. I…. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Leave us,” she told him. “This… This is not what Devorah wanted.”

“You’ve spoken to her?”

Hannah looked away. Castiel watched the exchange, though it was hard to keep his focus. Shadows tinged the edge of his vision and he couldn’t afford to pass out again. Hannah was here. Perhaps…. Perhaps she might free him or at least intercede for him. If not, even if she could pass a message to Dean and Sam – though he doubted it would make sense for it to be anything other than a goodbye at this point. He certainly couldn’t take much more of Vincent’s treatment, not with his Grace ebbing away.

“Then you’re the one who should leave.”

Hannah’s sword was in her hand without warning and the next moment it was jabbing the underside of Vincent’s chin. “Get out,” she said. “Or I will, so help me.”

For one long moment, Castiel was sure he’d turn on her. But he raised his hands, and then stepped away. “I’ll return soon, Castiel,” he promised, and then they were alone.


	6. Chapter 6

“I guess it makes sense,” Sam said.

They were standing in a cemetery – another fucking cemetery – among stone angels and marble headstones. There were a few trees here and there; all of them were weeping willows, their branches drooping sadly to the ground. It gave some additional cover from the tight road in case anyone drove by – the Impala was tucked tightly beneath one – and it meant no one would really see the strange guy in the black suit wandering from grave to grave counting paces.

He walked ignorantly over a few and Dean cussed at him. “Hey, asshat, a little respect?”

He wasn’t surprised when Crowley turned and gave him a bitch face. “I’m counting, you idiot squirrel. Do you want me to have to start over? I don’t mind, I cleared my schedule for this, but your feathered doxy might feel a little different. The longer we take after all, the less there’ll be left of him for you to cart home! Any more comments? No? Good.”

“Just,” Sam continued, “that the door to Hell was in Stull cemetery. So I suppose it figures the back door to Heaven would be in one too.”

Dean let him talk, aware he was doing it to try and calm both of them down – probably more him than Sam. But all he could feel was a horrific sense of foreboding; the last time they’d tried something like this, he’d lost Sam. God had brought Cas back, and Cas had revived Bobby, but Sam… Sam had taken the plunge, literally, and at the time Dean had thought him gone forever.

Maybe it had taken a long while to get Sam back and then make him whole, but he had Cas to thank for most of that – the good and the bad. He pushed away from the memories of that time; he couldn’t pick and choose and a lot of them were of his anger and sense of betrayal towards Cas. With time and a little distance he could see how Cas had come to be the person he was then, and he shot Crowley a daggered glare, but maybe it was something he’d never really get over.

For some reason it was hard to extend the clean slate he’d offered Bobby and Sam – mostly Sam – to Cas, and he hated himself for that. They’d all screwed up, done things so crazy stupid that it coming back around to knock them on their asses was really nothing more than what they deserved. Road to Hell, good intentions – Dean figured that particular proverb was just the summary of their lives.

But for some reason all of Castiel’s mistakes bore into him deep. Maybe it was the angel thing – maybe he just thought Cas shouldn’t have been capable of them. 

Or maybe, some dark voice in him suggested, it’s because each of those times he just didn’t do what you wanted. 

Was that it? He was furious at Cas, still, because he wouldn’t toe the Winchester line? Dean felt his throat clench up. Ok , maybe it was kind of that, but each time he’d told – begged – Cas not to do something or to pick a different path, he’d done it because he could see the angel was about to fall off a cliff. 

And each time, Cas had gone ahead with the swan dive anyway. Didn’t he get it? How could he not know that Dean was one hundred percent through with losing the people he cared about? He literally couldn’t take another damn thing, even though he knew that in reality he’d just keep going until he was dead, but it felt like another good hit would be the one to finally put him down.

Losing Cas to his fucked up family might do the job. 

Sam nudged him, and he snapped back to find Crowley staring at him.

“Planning your happy reunion sex already, are we?” the demon asked. 

Dean shot him the finger, prompting a chuckle in return.

“Well, this is the spot, anyway. Come on, you can’t hop the soul train from over there.”

They joined him cautiously, both of them looking for any sign that the patch of dirt where Crowley stood was any different from the other patches of dirt nearby. But it just looked like dirt. Of course, so had the hidden mouth to the Pit, until they cracked it wide open into the chasm that had eventually swallowed both his brothers.

“Right, so, what now?” Dean demanded.

Crowley waggled a finger at him. “I can just go, you know, Dean. Take my help and vamoose. Leave you two to figure it out from here on in.”

“And then you don’t get the Blade,” Sam reminded him. “Get on with it.”

Dean glanced sideways at his brother; Sam looked ready to lash out, and Dean realised Sam was just as worried about Cas as he was. Nerdy bonding, he thought, and realised he wanted to see that again. The two of them nose deep in books or trading theories back and forth on this and that while he stared at them in amusement that eventually turned into frustration after an hour of it.

Crowley reached into his pocket, and they both reacted – Sam going for his knife, Dean for his gun -loaded with devil’s trap bullets, just in case Crowley decided to screw them over, which he fully expected him to do. But the demon slowed his movements down and had the gall to look hurt.

“Really? You wound me, your lack of trust.”

“Shut up,” Dean said. “Don’t go doing anything that’ll get you killed by us, Crowley. At least not until we’re back with Cas.”

Crowley looked unimpressed, but he did hand each of them a small glowing vial. For a moment, Dean felt a little sick. 

“Is that….” Sam reached out for one of the vials, but then drew his hand back like he thought he’d get burned. “Is that Grace?”

Crowley nodded. “I like to keep a back up supply. What?” he continued, at their horrified looks. “You both know the only reason you don’t have any is you don’t have the ability to get it, or you’d have a crate of it in your fridge nestling up next to the beers. Anyway, this should stop the alarm bells ringing the minute you get inside. Without it, every angel in the place would know you were there. But if you hold on to these, the Grace is what’ll they sense.”

They each took a vial, shoving them in their pockets, but Dean still felt like his skin was crawling. He didn’t want to ask how Crowley had obtained the Grace – he didn’t need to, and it was just another reason to gank the SOB one of these days. But it did give him an idea.

“Can these help Cas?” He knew Crowley had done it before; Cas had related the fight at the gas station, with the demon turning up to save the day and stuffing Grace into him so he didn’t die on the spot.

“Indirectly,” Crowley said. “Don’t get me wrong, squirrel – your little chum’s running on empty, but the main point of you two carrying these is _not to get noticed_. That said, if you bump into any angels up there, they won’t help at all. You’ll get smited the moment they clap eyes on you. But I suppose if you do make it as far as Cas, then you could give him a top up. Might want to keep some back though.”

Dean glanced at Sam, saw he was as ready as it was possible to be given they were about to stage a home invasion of Heaven, and gave Crowley the nod. “Ok, open the door.”

Crowley started to mutter something in Enochian, and his eyes rolled back in his head. The ground shook, and Dean watched as strange symbols carved themselves in the dirt at their feet. He maybe recognised a few from spell work he’d seen Castiel perform but marked out in the soil it was hard to tell. A circle ripped through the dirt around them, and they turned to watch as it joined up, sealing them inside.

Or that was how it felt, because Dean was sure a wall had gone up but it was one he couldn’t see.

“Now,” Crowley gasped. A thin line of blood tricked from his nose.

“Now?” Dean looked around him – there was no door, no gaping blue portal, just the scrawls in the dirt. “Where the fuck-“

Sam clapped a hand over his mouth but Dean didn’t need silenced. He couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to – words, breath all taken away by the sudden silence that settled around them.

The cemetery was gone. They were standing in a long, deathly quiet corridor – the walls and floor were plain white marble and though there were no lights that Dean could see, it was almost uncomfortably bright.

“I guess we’re here,” Sam whispered. He looked scared and fascinated at the same time. “Any ideas on how we actually find him? I mean, Heaven’s a pretty big place. I guess.”

Dean shook his head, still not trusting his voice. Now that they were up here, he was starting to realise the mammoth task this was going to be. Keeping out of the way of any angels, finding Cas, somehow getting him out and then finding their way back to here, and then…

“Fuck,” he managed and then had to slap Sam’s hand away when he tried to gag him again. “Come on, Sammy, you think they have an intruder alert system that reacts when somebody uses foul language? Crowley didn’t tell us how to get back.”

When he heard the demon’s voice inside his head, it was like being dunked in ice cold water. 

_You get back out the same way you got in, you nitwit. Just stand where you are now and I’ll pull you back down_.

Dean thought a few curses back at him but there wasn’t time to squabble with the King of Hell. Like Sam had said, Heaven was a big place and finding one angel suddenly seemed impossible.

But that angel was Castiel. Dean started down the corridor, Sam falling into step behind him. If they had to check every damn room in the place, traipse through the personal Heaven of every soul who’d come to rest here since the Creation, then that was what they were going to do.

He wished he could pray to Cas, tell him they were there, they were coming for him – ask him to hold on – but this close any angel with their ears on might hear it as well. He just had to hope that Cas could somehow sense them, vials of stolen grace aside, and know help was on the way.


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as Vincent left, Hannah put down her blade.

“Castiel,” she said, and then her hands were on him. He jerked a little at her sudden contact; the only touches bestowed on him recently had been to deliver pain. But her Grace flared against him and his injuries were healed. His clothing was restored; being dressed again in his familiar garb seemed to bolster his strength. A very human reaction, Vincent would have said, and then hurt him again for it. But it was, and Castiel didn’t deny it to himself. There was a vulnerability in being naked, and he was vulnerable enough.

“Thank you,” he said. “Did…. I didn’t think Caroline would accept you again.”

She gave him a sad smile. “She remembered you, how you saw her home safely. Your kindness. She liked you, Castiel, and I told her you were in trouble. She wanted to help, until you were safe.”

He watched her look away, could see the shame on her face, the regret. “Hannah, this wasn’t your doing.”

“I knew of it, though. Their plans – not this,” she added, hurriedly, at the hurt look he gave her. “But, Castiel – don’t you see that some kind of intervention was required? I meant everything I said – you gave up your entire being for Dean Winchester. You’ve bled and died for him, lost your Grace for him, turned your back on Heaven. You’ve taken everything you were meant to be – the very word of God that runs through us – and shattered it on the floor at his feet. And the worst of it is that you don’t seem to know it.”

“I know that we’re in no position to look down on them,” Castiel snapped. He was tired of hearing this…party line, this diatribe against the best example of humanity he’d come to know, against his friends. “To judge them. They stood between billions of people and untold suffering, against the alleged mercy of Heaven. The lives they’ve saved – risking themselves for people they’ve never met. And even though they’ve suffered manipulation, torture, loss- they’ll do it again today, and tomorrow, and until they die. So, yes, Hannah, I know the sacrifices I’ve made for them, for him. And my friends have been worth every single one.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to strike him. But her anger seemed to fade, swallowed up by hurt and frustration. “They’ve broken and twisted you,” she told him. “Maybe they are the people you believe them to be, Castiel. But I look at you and I don’t see their friend. I see their tool, a resource. I see my broken brother, used up and mangled by his devotion to them. Is it really friendship, this bond you share with them? When they only call on you if they want something?”

Cas tugged at the straps still restraining him. He’d heard enough; he was still reeling from Vincent’s attack – physical and verbal – and he wasn’t ready to repel this fresh onslaught. Yes, he felt there was truth in what she said. But he had seen the goodness in the brothers, had known kindness from them. They were hard, at times – but he knew the upbringing they’d had. The harshness of it had struck him, even before he’d rebelled.

She didn’t know them, and he found her hypocrisy stunning. She’d dragged him, half dead, on her mission to recover any rogues – yes, he had wanted to help, had felt responsible after all, but how were her demands on him then any different from what Dean and Sam had asked of him over the years?

But she was here, and she’d stopped Vincent, and healed him. Castiel knew there was no chance of the Winchesters coming to rescue him – getting into Purgatory, getting into Hell, that was something entirely different to gaining unbidden access to Heaven.

_So they won’t try_ , a voice in his head said. _What would be the point_? 

Part of him agreed; it would be reckless to attempt it, but even if they succeeded, nothing but pain and death awaited them up here. But the rest of him ached at the knowledge that if they found out what happened to him, they would be forced to give him up for lost. 

“Let me go,” he pleaded. “Hannah, please – help me.”

She cupped his face, her fingers smudging the tears he hadn’t even felt falling. “Castiel, don’t,” she whispered. “None of this is your fault. I wish you’d listened to me, I could have spared you this. We’re your family, Castiel, not them. This is what your love for them has brought you to, and it’s a love that isn’t returned. But I love you, Castiel.”

Her kiss was hesitant, as if she thought he was fragile enough to break beneath it. But he was too exhausted to fight against it or to protest, so she grew bolder, her tongue urging for access which he didn’t so much give as let her take. Her hands shifted from his face to his body, and he remembered when she’d bared herself to him in the motel room. She’d wanted him then, and clearly she still did, but…

_It's a love that isn’t returned._

“Hannah,” he gasped into her mouth. “Hannah, let me go.”

He felt his bonds slacken and fall, and the only thing that stopped him collapsing was her. She caught him, held his weight easily, and then shoved him back until he was against one of the walls hidden in the darkness. Her touch was rapacious, and everywhere, and he felt more confined then than he had strapped down to the table. He couldn’t see much in the shadows, couldn’t seem to focus. He was being limited here, no freer now he was no longer restrained than he had been moments before.

“Stop,” he said. “Stop it!”

“Don’t push this away, Castiel,” she murmured against his skin. “I want you – I have done since I first saw you. I’m not him, I know that – but he’s the one who brought you to this. I won’t ever leave you, Castiel. I won’t use you and put you away again until the next time you’re needed. I won’t let anyone hurt you, either. All Devorah wants is for you to come back to us. To be where you should be – with your family.”

Castiel gathered what strength he could and gave her a hard shove. She staggered away, collided with the trolley and knocked it over. The instruments, some of them still coated with his blood, scattered across the floor.

“My _family_ kidnapped me and tortured me,” he snarled. “Again. Don’t tell me that any of this is for my own good.”

“Castiel, please.” Her tone was level, calming, as if she was dealing with some skittish animal. But he didn’t miss the way she was moving to get between him and the door. _Hannah_ , he thought. The betrayal hurt almost as much as Vincent’s abuse. 

“Did you mean any of it?”

“I meant all of it,” she said. “And I can’t let you leave, not when it means you’ll go straight back to them. You deserve better, Castiel. But you won’t see that until we’ve purged Dean out of you.”

Castiel laughed at her, the sound borne of hurt and desperation. “I don’t know why you think I’ve had intercourse with him. He… He would never want that.”

Hannah was still moving, and Castiel knew he was almost out of time. Escape was unlikely, but he had to try even though he knew if he managed to get past her there would be countless angels between him and the way to the Winchesters.

If he had any family left, it was those two stubborn, foolish, brave boys – and he wasn’t about to give up on getting back to them.

He doubted that was the lesson Heaven had wanted to teach him, but through their cruelty it was the one they’d helped him learn.

“Then I guess you’re too close to him to see it. He does want that, Castiel. He wants you. Though I think he might not know it either, or at least is denying himself. But it hasn’t caused him to treat you any better. Even if you haven’t let him take you, Castiel – the day that you do, it won’t change anything for the better. He might even abandon you entirely once he has what he craves.”

He rushed her, desire to get out fuelled by anger at her words. They clashed, and he was desperate enough to be able to shove her out of the way, and then he was through the darkness and into the corridor beyond.

He wasn’t that far from the Curia but the other direction would take him to the doorway that led back to Earth. Not near, but not so far that he had no chance.

Before he could take a step, pain exploded inside of him. He gasped and looked down to find blood soaking through his shirt. His jaw ached, and when he raised trembling fingers to his mouth they came away stained with red. All the damage that Vincent had done, that Hannah had _healed_ – it was inflicted again in an instant.

Castiel collapsed to his knees, and couldn’t even flinch when someone came to stand over him.

Devorah looked down at him, Vincent behind her, her expression an unstable mix of pity and frustration. 

“Why do you resist so much?” she asked. “We’re offering you salvation, Castiel. But you pull away from it, from us. Do you prefer this? Being broken, sullied, over the chance to be made new?”

Castiel tried to stand. He wanted to meet what was coming on his feet not kneeling before her. But his body shook hard enough that when he managed to speak the words were stuttered and had to be forced out.

“Y-your salvation is a yoke,” he said. “A c-collar. I won’t wear it again.”

Devorah glanced over at Hannah. She was standing in the doorway, face unreadable. 

“We tried it your way,” Devorah said. She glanced over her shoulder at Vincent. “And yours. The firm hand, the soothing touch. Neither has worked. Which really leaves us one option, Castiel. We will purge you from that vessel, and start from the beginning. We will remake you, as you once did for Dean Winchester, and when you regain awareness, brother – we will be all you know. Your righteous man, his brother, all of it – it will never have happened and you will be once again whole.”

Vincent beckoned with his hands and two angels came at Castiel. They didn’t need to bother with the cuffs he’d worn before, but they did, and then he was hauled to his feet. Devorah ran a hand through his hair, an almost maternal gesture so at odds with the orders she’d given. What she was suggesting – he wouldn’t even be him anymore and the pain of the procedure would be indescribable until he lost all sense of himself.

“Don’t do this,” he said. He couldn’t keep his voice steady. 

“It’s the only way, little brother. I take no pleasure in it, none of us do. Get it over with.”

He shot a last, desperate glance at Hannah but she had turned away and all he could do then was struggle as much as he could. 

It didn’t help.


	8. Chapter 8

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean hissed.

He pulled back from the corner, thumped his head back against the wall in frustration. 

“What?” Sam demanded. He started to move past, to see for himself, but Dean caught his arm and stopped him. 

“Heaven’s cell block,” Dean said. “Guess who’s in solitary confinement. Our favourite stenographer.”

He could read his own feelings on Sam’s face. That little shit had a ganking coming to him for everything he’d done – if it hadn’t been for him, he wouldn’t have spent weeks as Crowley’s pet demon. Cas wouldn’t have ended up human and destitute, though Dean knew he carried some of the blame there, or been stuck smack bang at the top of Heaven’s most wanted list.

They’d be back at the bunker right now, Cas with them, probably doing dorky little angel things to frustrate the hell out of him and probably doing it on purpose. Sometimes he was convinced Cas had turned into a total troll, and if that was the case it was totally down to Sam.

But instead they were in the lion’s den and Cas was busy getting re-educated somewhere. 

Dean didn’t even know if Cas could hear his prayers just then. He wished it wasn’t a one way channel. Truth, part of him freaked a little at the thought of Cas’s voice in his head, talking back to him. But it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He knew Cas always listened, but it’d be nice to get a little back and forth, especially when he just needed some reassurance that the angel wasn’t dead.

Even if it meant hearing Cas screaming for help, he’d take that over the not knowing for sure the other dick angels hadn’t killed him with their own brand of kindness.

“We could go back,” Sam suggested, but he didn’t sound keen. So far they seemed to have doubled back on themselves a lot – all the corridors looked the same, and they’d quickly decided against trying to leave any marks. The vials of Grace had kept them hidden so far from other angels’ awareness, but it wouldn’t take much to tip this thing over into disaster.

The cell block was the first change in their surroundings since Crowley had got them in there.

“No,” Dean said. “We’re gonna have to risk it.”

“Because we can trust Metatron not to give us away,” Sam said, but he sounded resigned to the idea that they were going to have to go through rather than back or around.

Dean felt the weight of the angel blade in his hand. Remembered the last time he’d had something with a sharp edge against the scribe’s skin, the tug and tear as he dragged it up through flesh and bone. Watched the slow leak of Grace and wondered if it had hurt worse for Cas when the bastard did it to him. 

And of course Cas had probably had to heal Metatron before taking him back there, to avoid damaging the fragile relations he’d started to rebuild. Wasting more of his borrowed Grace on that treacherous little bastard.

How did he manage to screw everything up when it came to Cas? Best of intentions, worst of results. Sometimes he was sure the best thing for Cas would have been to take a sickie the day Heaven had sounded the call to storm Hell and drag his sorry ass off the rack.

Of course, then everyone on Earth would be dead, and them too unless one or both were carting around an archangel.

“Dean,” Sam said.

He nodded, dragged his focus back. No time for thinking about might have beens. They’d get Cas back and get the hell out of Heaven and everything else they’d take from there.

Dean turned the corner and wondered if – against all odds – they’d get lucky. Metatron might just not notice them. Or just not care. He hated Heaven – hated the angels – so maybe his ability to take a grudge too fucking far would work in their favour. Though of course, he had reason to hate them too. Maybe it’d come down to who he loathed the most.

But the wry chuckle quickly broke that hope in two. 

“Hello, boys!” He raised his voice, eyes glinting with amusement. 

“Shut up,” Dean hissed, and then felt like kicking himself. Every time, this little shit seemed able to play him.

“Why?” Metatron said, loudly, voice echoing off the walls. “Are you trying to sneak into Heaven? Unnoticed? What possible reason could you have to do something as stupid as that!”

Dean strode up the bars of the cell, but they were solid. Just as well, he supposed – maybe the bars were all that was keeping him powerless. Mark or not, angel blade or not, Dean didn’t fancy his chances against Metatron on his home turf, not unless all he held all the cards.

But he did take out the blade and made it obvious he was checking the distance between the bars and the scribe. “I might be out here,” he warned. “But I can still hit you in there.”

Metatron glared at him. “So sure of yourself. Of course, I’ll be happy to oblige you by _standing still_ while you amble up to the oche. Presuming that my guards don’t decide to come check on me and find we’ve suddenly got a rodent infestation. I wonder which one of you they’ll kill first.”

Sam eased Dean back from the cell, and Dean’s temper surged. He wanted in there, wanted to slam his blade into Metatron’s chest and watch him spark out. 

Well, the Mark wanted it more, but Dean was never going to forget what the creep had done. 

_So don’t forget_ , he told himself. _Just remember it another day when you’re not a mile inside enemy lines and probably gonna be knee deep in feathered nutjobs any second._

“You’ve seen Castiel,” Sam said.

Metatron shrugged. “Maybe if you describe him.”

Dean couldn’t help himself. “He’s the only one around here who’s not an asshole, so he’ll stand out. Where did they take him?”

The scribe strolled towards the bars, seemingly untroubled by the presence of two pissed off Winchesters armed with angel blades. “Let me ask you something, Dean – is it still telling you to kill? Indiscriminately? Or is it picking who it wants to see dead? Sammy, there, for instance? Maybe your little damsel in distress? Does it want you to take things further than just gutting people? See, I wasn’t around when Cain was, but the stories I’ve heard! Back then, it wasn’t just a lust for blood it engendered in Cain. Oh, no. It made him lust for other things as well.”

He knew Metatron was screwing with him, but he felt a spark of fear anyway. So far, all the Mark had made him want to do was kill. The compulsion hadn’t gone away, even though part of him had hoped it might have once he’d killed Cain. Cain gave him the Mark, Cain dies…. He hadn’t been stupid enough to think it would just disappear from his skin in the same instant, but maybe it would go dormant or something.

It hadn’t, but it also hadn’t overtaken him completely, and seen him use the First Blade on Sam and Cas when he’d come out of the barn. So, a win, he guessed.

But maybe… Maybe what Metatron was saying would come next.

“Don’t,” Sam warned him. “He’s playing you.”

“All I speak is truth, Sam,” Metatron said. He pursed his lips, a sad little moue that turned into a smirk.

“And all your truths are lies,” Sam countered. “Not falling for it. Where’s Cas?”

“Well, you two are less fun than I remember. They took him, probably to see the new boss. I bet that was a hoot.”

Dean shot a glance at Sam. Heaven was unstable, but he’d thought…. He’d been sure Hannah had taken charge, since she was pretty much in command of Castiel’s little band of rebels the last time he’s seen her. “Who?”

“Oh, you haven’t had the pleasure. I’ve met her and I can say the same. Devorah. Old bitch, some weird mix of traditionalist and modernist. That was a while ago, though, so either our little Castiel has broken or they’re still working at him.”

Working. Dean closed his eyes for a second, remembering the way they’d made Cas snap back before. Realised he’d started to dig, to find out what Heaven was really up to, and given everything Dean had found out since he could probably imagine what they’d done then and have it be a fair approximation.

But knowing it had happened and maybe seeing it take place, again, for real?

Metatron had strayed too close, and Dean grabbed a fistful of his clothing through the bars. He hauled him forward so his face was pressed hard up against them, and shoved the edge of his angel blade against the scribe’s throat.

“So where’s the workshop?”

Metatron tried to push free, but Dean figured they had some kind of sigils or warding in place. Somehow hidden or safeguarded, so he couldn’t just erase them. “Follow the screams. Of course he’ll only scream if he breaks, stubborn little angel. Funny that his rescue depends on that, isn’t it? I love it when a story has angst, don’t you?”

Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, a silent plea for restraint. “So I guess we’ll just have to check every room until we find him, then. That means we’ll probably get caught, of course. And if we do, and they torture us – which they probably will, because we’re not exactly popular up here – I’m going to hold out long enough to make it convincing and then I’m going to tell them it was you. That you somehow got us in here, and it was all about trying to break you out and put you back in charge.”

The scribe scoffed at them. “The only problem there, Sam, is that they have me under wraps. If they didn’t I wouldn’t be listening to you adding an improbable twist to this story.”

“Is it?” Dean grinned at him. “They hate you, you piece of shit. It won’t take a lot to make them think you’re too dangerous to leave alive. And me and Sammy? We can run a con with the best of them. They’ll take your fucking head. So – where is he?”

He let him go then, and Metatron jerked back from them. Dean hoped he never got out then because from the look on his face, he knew Metatron would do worse the next time he had them at his mercy. He’d give the dumbass one thing – he had imagination, and it ran to the kind of twisted things that still plagued Dean’s dreams.

“They can run a con too, but he saw through it,” Metatron said, his tone making it clear his help was grudged. “So they took the little idiot to be cleansed.”

Somehow, Dean didn’t think that meant a spa day. “Just _where_.”

He jerked his head towards the corridor. “Go as far as it does and it branches out. First left. You’ll be there before you know it. Though what you’re going to do then, I’d love to know.”

Sam was already moving on, but Dean lingered enough to wonder if there was time to throw the angel blade. He probably could hit him, now when he was not expecting it. But then the weapon would be lost to him, and he didn’t want to feed the Mark any more than he was probably going to have to. 

“Making it up as I go,” he said. “And you’ll be seeing us again, you dick.”

He ran after Sam, but Metatron’s voice chased after him. “He’ll be a new angel by the time you find him, Dean. There ends your epic love story!”

“He really is a douche,” Sam said. 

Dean didn’t disagree but he didn’t really feel like he could keep his voice level enough to answer. The thought of Cas not being _Cas_ was just too much for him to deal with. What the hell were they going to do? Why couldn’t Heaven and Hell just leave the three of them alone? 

“We’re going to find him,” Sam said. He seemed able to read Dean’s fears; of course he could. Sam was his brother and Dean knew he might as well try to lie to himself as lie to him. Something like this – how important Cas was – Sam knew what he was feeling. “And before they do a factory reset. Or whatever they’ve got planned.”

Dean hoped he was right. He couldn’t bear the thought of Cas looking at him like he was a stranger.

They moved on, fast but cautious, and then came to the junction Metatron had told them to look out for. First left, and they turned that way. Almost at once the corridor seemed to open up into a wide chamber, and Sam pulled Dean down behind a huge pillar just inside the entrance.

Two angels were dragging Castiel between them. He was cuffed, and fighting them – _of course he was_ – but he looked like hell. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t seem bloody or beat up, and Dean wanted to know which of them had done that. He was going to gank every last SOB who’d put their hands on Cas. Do it in front of him so Cas knew they wouldn’t do it again.

“This is what happens,” one of them, a tall blonde male, mocked. “When you let a human taint you, Castiel. I’ve heard the others talk about what you let Dean Winchester do to you. I honestly didn’t believe it, but seeing you I do now. I am curious though. Did you feel it like they do? Was it…pleasurable?”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. Ok, angels were weird but he didn’t get any of this. What the hell were they going on about?

“He didn’t touch me,” Castiel groaned, and he sounded in such pain that Dean almost shot up and went for the bastards holding on to him. “He’s better than you believe.”

Sam grabbed his arm, held him in place, shook his head hard at him. _Wait._

There was a long marble plinth near centre of the room. Castiel yelped as they hoisted him up and stretched him down on it. He tried to jerk away from them, but they pinned him down. Manacles materialised from nowhere, and Dean knew where this was going. 

Once they had Castiel tied down to that thing, this was probably going to be a losing battle.

He got up, sensing Sam moving around the other side of the pillar, and yelled, “Hey, asshole. I think maybe you guys have something you wanted to say to me!”

The blonde angel turned, and Sam’s blade hit him straight in the right spot. He yelled as he jerked backwards, light flaring out of his body before he slumped to the floor.

That left his friend, and Dean ran at him, desperate to close the space before he could raise the alarm or rush him.

He hadn’t even got near before Castiel launched himself off the plinth and knocked the other angel to the floor. They grappled, until Castiel swung his cuffed hands against the angel’s head and knocked him flat again. Before Dean or Sam could reach them, Castiel had snatched Sam’s blade from the first angel’s body and buried it hilt deep in the chest of his opponent.

The angel screamed once, short and sharp, and then he too was gone, wings turned to ash on the floor.

Castiel slumped back against the plinth, panting, and Dean dropped to his knees beside him. “You just can’t help being a stubborn little badass, can you?” he chided, lightly, but hell the angel looked rougher up close than he had when they’d watched him get dragged in. “Can you hang on for us?”

Sam retrieved his angel blade and looked around him. “That probably drew some attention,” he said. “We gotta go.”

Dean stared at Castiel, cupped his face in his hands. The angel looked like he was zoning out on them. “Cas,” he said. He patted his cheek, firmly. “Cas, you gotta stay with us.”

Finally, Cas nodded. “I think I’d like to leave now.”

Dean nodded, jerkily. Something twisted inside him, at the thought that Castiel’s own family could do this. He wasn’t surprised, he knew better than to be, but every mark on Cas…every bruise, every bloodstain, and all the damage he couldn’t see…. Fuck. “So let’s get you up.”

Sam took his other side, and they hoisted Cas on to his feet. He trembled against them, and Dean hoped he was strong enough to make it back to the doorway. If they had to carry him, they probably wouldn’t make it. But he only managed a couple of steps before he slumped downwards, the sudden shift in balance almost pulling them down with him. 

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean said. 

Sam hauled the angel back upright and shoved him against Dean. “Hold on to him,” he said. Dean watched as Sam used the point of the blade to snap loose the chain connecting the cuffs on Castiel’s wrists. Then he shoved his blade into Dean’s hand and dipped enough he could get Castiel over his shoulder.

Castiel whimpered, and Sam patted his back. “I know, I’m sorry. We just need to get out of here, Cas, and you’ll be ok. Hold on, alright?”

He didn’t get an answer, and Dean tilted Cas’s head enough to check his face.

“Passed out,” he said, hoping it was just that.

“Small mercies,” Sam said, but his face twisted angrily as he spoke the words, and Dean got it. They knew better than to associate Heaven with anything positive, but seeing the proof of it in the battered body of their friend was a hard thing to take.

Dean went ahead, leading Sam back the way they’d come. He hoped he remembered the short way back to the door – they’d followed so many dead ends trying to find Cas that all the corridors had bled into each other in his head. But getting his family home safe was incentive; he’d work it out, and maybe Crowley would even flick them some breadcrumbs.

He needed them back on terra firma, locked in the bunker – out of reach of everybody who wanted to hurt them.

Soon they were back at Metatron’s cell, and the scribe looked genuinely surprised to see them. “You two are very hard to kill, aren’t you? Leave any dead angels behind you?”

“Not enough,” Dean snapped. He paused long enough to check the corridor was empty and waved Sam on.

“Poor little Castiel – did you get there in time, I wonder. Is he still him?”

Dean turned on him. “I’m going to kill you one of these days, Metatron. For everything you did to him and to me. And he’ll be there to watch.”

“Promises, promises,” the scribe called after him. 

Dean caught Sam up and they started to move faster. Who knew how long they had until the bodies of the angels were discovered? Once the hierarchy realised Castiel was gone, they’d start to search for him and even if they couldn’t apparate any more Dean didn’t fancy getting chased down on foot either.

He stopped Sam at the next junction, waiting long enough until the route was clear in his head, and then leading him back the way they’d come after Crowley’s little doorway spat them out. Several times more he had to stop and get his bearings, and it was all costing them time, but not as much as picking the wrong direction. He almost did, at what he was sure was nearly them back to the door, but Sam steered him straight instead of right.

Up ahead, he could see a faint gleam, and he could almost hear Crowley’s voice in his head. It sounded distant, and pissed.

_If you two don’t show up soon, I’m going to take it that you’ve decided to stay. Or been ripped apart by the God squad. So get a move on_! 

_Nearly there_ , Dean thought back, not sure at all if Crowley could actually hear him. 

He glanced back once at Sam, who was looking winded, and at Cas. Still unconscious, helpless and barely saved in time from being scrubbed clean in Heaven’s decontamination unit.

Scrubbed clean of him, of what they thought he’d done to Cas.

What the hell was wrong with these dicks?

“Dean!” Sam yelled, and that brought his attention back around to the doorway.

Hannah was standing in front of it, her angel blade in her hand. 

“I don’t care about either of you,” she said. “So you can go. But Castiel? Castiel stays.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean raised his own weapon, and set himself in front of Sam and Cas. “If you think we’re leaving him with you, you’re crazy. What the fuck did you do to him?”

Hannah’s eyes blazed blue. “What did we do? He’s here because of you. Everything that’s happened, all of it, the whole poisonous path – it can be traced right back to you. And you dare to look at me like I’m to blame for all of this.”

“I didn’t kidnap and torture him. Those marks on him? Who put them there?”

She had the decency to look away, and Dean pressed home. “If we leave him here, they’ll finish what they started. They were hurting him. But even if they weren’t, he’s our family. He stays with us. We didn’t bust in here to abandon him.”

Hannah didn’t look convinced. But she did lower the sword. “You take very poor care of your family.” A sad smile tugged at her lips. “Do you love him?”

Dean heard the rustle of clothing behind him as Sam adjusted his grip on Cas. He needed to get Hannah to move, before her mood shifted again or reinforcements arrived, or Sam just couldn’t carry Cas any more. “I hear you all think I molested him or something.”

“They did. I knew you hadn’t touched him. I could see it though – I still can. When you look at him. When he looks at you. Both of you have hurt each other, not by design, but it’s a bridge neither of you can seem to get across. And neither of you seems sure you’re what the other wants. He’s the bravest person I’ve met, but when it comes to you he’s too scared of being hurt again to risk it. Too scared you’ll push him away. Again.”

When she said it like that, so bluntly, Dean felt like stabbing himself. The thought that he could ever do anything to make Cas afraid of being hurt by him was like a solid punch to the chest. He knew it was true, could recall every action and word that had made it so, but he’d hoped Cas had understood and forgiven him.

Cas probably had, but forgetting was something else. As for everything else she’d said? He did love Cas. But not like that. 

You just stormed Heaven for him, he heard himself say. 

But he’d have done that for Sam, if he’d been angel snatched and dragged upstairs to be tortured. He’d have done it for Bobby, for Kevin, for Charlie. He wasn’t ready to jump into bed with any of them either. 

It wasn’t any different.

Except they all seemed to think so.

“I’ll straighten out anything I have to between us, Hannah. But I’m not leaving here without him. Do you think you’ve helped him? Look at him. You’ve tortured him until he’s passed out. If he wakes up right now and sees you, what’s he gonna do? Thank you? You’re probably the one he’s scared of right now.”

She tilted her head to the side, focus shifting inwards. When she looked back to him, he could tell their time was up. 

“They know,” she said. “They’ve found Ezra and Dominic.”

“Then let us go,” Sam said. “Hannah, please. If they catch us you know what they’ll do.”

For a moment, Dean thought he was going to have to kill her. The Mark rippled with pleasure at the thought, and he could feel it pushing him, driving even more adrenaline into his system. 

Then she stepped aside and waved them past her. “They’re close, hurry.”

Dean shoved Sam, with Cas still over his shoulder, past him. Hannah’s hand settled for a moment on Castiel’s back and then she gave Sam a push. “Hurry!”

Dean glanced at her one last time and then followed.

**

The return was as jarring as their arrival in Heaven. Here and there, even worse than when he’d first been getting used to Angel Air. But Sam almost staggered under Castiel’s weight, and Dean was surprised to see Crowley reach out to steady them.

“What?” the demon said when he caught Dean’s stare. “If he bashes Castiel’s head in on a gravestone he probably won’t be able to tell us where the blade is. Though I have to say, boys – rubbish attempt at a rescue. Doesn’t look as if he’ll be able to anyway.” He ran his eyes over Castiel’s broken form and gave a low whistle.

“Shut up,” Dean said. “They’re probably right behind us, so we need to get out of here.”

They retreated to the Impala, and Dean argued with himself for a moment over who would go where. Crazy, when they’d be getting the shit beat out of them by a bunch of feathered freaks any moment, but still. Sam’s place was up front, but that would leave Crowley in the back with Cas and that just wasn’t happening. 

“Here, he said, and shoved the keys into Sam’s hand. Then he took Cas from him and got him settled in the back seat. Sam got in behind the wheel, Crowley next to him, and then they tore away.

Dean had Cas pretty much in his lap, but was able to turn enough to see two figures appear suddenly in between the gravestones. Neither was Hannah, and he wondered if she’d suffer for letting them go.

He wasn’t sure that he cared, not when she’d probably been involved in what happened to Cas, and not when it was her little cross country angel hunt that had caused him to pass out behind the wheel and crash his car.

“Sam,” he said.

The Impala picked up speed, and soon they were zipping out of the gate, on to the road, and then – hopefully - to safety.

Crowley turned enough to look back at him. “I can wake him up.” He reached back with a hand, which Dean slapped away.

“How about you don’t, and I don’t stab the shit out of you. You’ve got your deal, Crowley. The Blade isn’t going anywhere.”

Crowley turned back around, but Dean could see he wasn’t happy. He didn’t care. They had Cas back, and the next thing was to get him someplace safe so they could fix him up. Hopefully by then he’d have found a way to double cross Crowley and stop him getting the blade but right now all that mattered was helping Cas.

He slipped the vial of Grace out of his pocket and stared at the way it glowed in his hand. Castiel had hated Crowley forcing it into him, hated the thought of another angel dying so he could live. But Dean wasn’t above being selfish in this – he didn’t want Cas to die, and maybe the angel Crowley had killed to fill the vial wasn’t one of the angels who’d tortured Cas, but it didn’t matter. It was like Cas refusing a blood transfusion, and even if it was the wrong type and could do damage in the long term it was getting Cas to stay alive right now that he was worried about.

“Does he need to be conscious for this?” he asked.

Crowley glanced back briefly. “No. Grace can sense an angel. It’ll find a way into him. Just uncap the vial and hold it close to him.”

Dean unscrewed the lid and held the small bottle near Castiel’s face. The Grace floated out like a glowing cloud and slipped into Castiel’s mouth. He shuddered as if someone had drenched him in ice cold water, and a brilliant glow covered him. Dean screwed his eyes shut until the light faded. When he looked down again, he could see some of Cas’s injuries starting to fade. 

He looked a little better, but not all the way there.

“It didn’t work right,” he said, almost accusing, as he glared at Crowley’s back.

“It’s Grace, not a bloody miracle,” the demon shot back. “Stolen Grace, crammed into an angel already nearly drained, with just a few dregs of the last ‘donation’ still gumming up the works. But it’ll do the job, just slower than usual.”

Dean lapsed into a sullen silence. He opened Castiel’s shirt, grimaced at the wounds gradually closing up before his eyes. The blood remained – he was going to have to get Cas into a bath or something to get him clean later – but at least he was starting to heal. He was going to live.

After a few hours, he switched places with Sam, and left his brother to tend to Castiel in the back seat while he drove. Not that there was much that could be done for Cas while they were on the road, but stopping at a motel even so Cas could benefit from a bed instead of the back seat and either his or Sam’s lap as a pillow would be too damn risky. For the first time, Dean knew what Cas must have felt like those first few days he’d been alone after falling. Unable to stop anywhere, not for long, with nearly every angel on his trail and baying for his blood. 

Getting kidnapped by one that actually wanted to _possess_ him was bad enough, but then to get caught by that reaper…

And then he’d showed up to rescue him, before kicking him right back out on the street. So that one had been mainly down to Gadreel, but Dean had never managed to get rid of the guilt. He carried so damn much of it over Cas, and Hannah’s words came back to him. Cas had the ability to hurt him, because he mattered. Dean was responsible for him, just like he was for Sam. Every time Cas screwed up, or got hurt, or threw himself under a bus because he felt like it was the best possible solution – he automatically felt like it was down to him.

Even so, he wasn’t proud of himself for some of the things he’d said and done by way of dealing with that. He knew it was because he cared, but did Cas? He hoped so, but he could only remember telling the angel he did a couple of times and even then it was either during a fight – words couched in anger – or in such a roundabout way that Cas probably didn’t get it.

If – when – Cas got through this, Dean was going to talk him. Properly, no more avoiding what he needed to say because it was like stripping off his body armour when somebody was shooting at him. Cas could hurt him, but he was worth that risk. And maybe, if he could get his head on straight, he could take good enough care of Cas that neither of them could get hurt again.

At least not by each other.


	10. Chapter 10

Crowley knew the location of the bunker anyway, and since they’d still to keep up their end of the bargain he wasn’t about to just let them go on trust. It wasn’t worth fighting him or trying to trick him, not that they could effectively do either with a recovering angel in the back seat. Anyway, he provided a little extra security as they finally neared home – Crowley wasn’t one to stick his neck out, especially for them, but if he wanted the Blade back then he had to help keep Cas alive and safe so he could get it.

The irony of playing bodyguard to an angel clearly wasn’t lost on him, and his face was twisted into a perpetual scowl as he helped Sam get Cas inside. It wasn’t easy, the narrow staircase leading down from the entrance not really wide enough for three people, and Crowley quickly lost patience. 

“Oh, for hell’s sake,” he snapped, when they nearly lost their footing for the second time. “Where are you going to put him?”

“My room,” Dean said, and before he could protest Crowley pulled Castiel against him and they disappeared.

He and Sam had never moved so fast, bolting down both sets of stairs and then through the library and the map room until they hit the corridor. Crowley angel-napping Cas wasn’t something they’d considered, but damn it should have been. 

When they reached the room, and slammed the door open, it was to find Cas lying on the bed and Crowley leaning against the wall.

“Oh, let me guess,” Crowley said. “You thought I took a wrong turn on the way here and ended up in hell with the little bird. I keep to my agreements, squirrel. Now let’s wake him up so I can get my property and go.”

Dean glanced sideways at Sam. Neither of them were happy with the prospect of Crowley having the First Blade back, but maybe it would be okay. Dean didn’t need it – Abaddon was dead, so was Cain – and he certainly didn’t want it. The Mark alone was hard enough to resist. Shoving it and the Blade together was like making a monster, and it’d be him. 

As long as he couldn’t get to it, did it matter if Cas had hidden it or if Crowley had it locked up in Hell?

It occurred to him then that handing it over to the demon was for the best. If the Mark ever got full control over him, and Castiel was the only person who stood between him and the Blade? The torture Castiel had suffered at his siblings’ hands would be nothing compared to what he’d do to get it back. 

But convincing Cas of that would be a battle on its own.

He moved to the bed, and gently shook Cas until he opened his eyes. “Hey. How you feeling?”

Castiel seemed to be struggling to focus on him – not surprising – but after a moment he became more aware. “Dean, I-“

“Oh, please,” Crowley said, “before we get to the blah blah blahs, ask the stupid featherbrain the question. You can have your touchy feely reunion after I’ve gone.”

Castiel reacted immediately to hearing Crowley’s voice. He shot upright, eyes flaring as he saw the demon. 

Dean was on the other side of the bed, but Sam was standing not too far from Crowley. Cas staggered to his feet, grabbed Sam’s arm and shoved him at Dean. 

“How did you get in here?” he demanded.

“Cas,” Sam started. “Cas, it’s okay.”

“The King of Hell is in your home,” Cas snapped. “That is not _okay_.”

He grabbed Crowley by his coat and slammed him hard against the bunker wall. Dean vaulted the bed. He’d expected to have to yank Cas away from the demon, but instead Castiel slumped forward.

Crowley caught him, with a displeased sigh, and then pushed him at Dean. “Yours, I believe.”

Sam came around and between them they got Cas sitting up on the bed. 

“You ok?” Dean asked. Castiel was staring past him, eyes fixed on Crowley as though he was a target. Dean shifted a little to his right so he was the angel’s focus. “Hey, Cas. Are you alright?”

Cas shook his head. “But I will be. I just need time to rest and heal. Can I stay here?”

“Can you-“ Dean straightened up and exchanged stunned looks with Sam.

“Cas, this is your home too,” Sam said. His voice was quiet, a little hurt. “You _do_ stay here.”

Dean nodded; he couldn’t say anything himself, not and keep a grip on the anger scouring through him. Hannah was right; those other dicks, they were all right. He hadn’t believed it until he’d realised Cas thought they might not want him to stay in the bunker while he got better.

“This is just the most touching display,” Crowley said. He looked around Dean’s room. “Does anyone have a hankie?” Then he glanced pointedly at his watch.

Castiel tried to get up again, and this time Dean and Sam both put a hand on his shoulders to push him back. It was too easy, another sign that Cas was definitely going to need time to recover from what had been done to him.

“You got an appointment somewhere?” Dean snapped as he glared back at Crowley.

“Actually, yes,” the demon said. “So let’s get to your side of the deal, shall we?”

“Deal?” Castiel’s voice was lower, rougher than usual.

Fuck. Dean had kind of hoped for a little alone time with Cas so he could tell him what they’d promised to Crowley in exchange for his help. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Cas,” Dean said. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Look, we couldn’t find a way into Heaven to break you out, so Crowley helped. He showed us a back door.”

Castiel looked from Dean to Sam and then over to Crowley. “And what did you agree to in exchange?”

There was no getting away from it, no sense in stalling. “The Blade.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and held out his hand. “And here you are, Cas, so I think you’d best be handing it over.”

Castiel looked more pissed than Dean had seen him in a long time. “Give you the oldest weapon known to the human race. The one you tricked Dean into accepting the Mark for. No.”

Crowley smirked at them, and raised a hand. Before either of the Winchesters could move, he flicked his fingers at them and they were pinned to the wall.

“Crowley,” Cas growled, but he had barely pushed himself off the bed before a chain appeared from nowhere and whipped itself around his neck. The other end looped itself around the headboard. He was yanked back, forced onto his knees on the mattress. 

Dean snarled a protest, but Crowley gave them a shrug. “Like I didn’t see that coming. There was no way Cas here was just going to give up the blade. Not without leverage. Though I have to wonder if you’ve picked the same hiding place as you did last time.”

A knife appeared in Crowley’s hand, and he took a step towards the bed. “Perhaps I’ll have a little look and find out.”

“It’s not in me, you ass,” Cas said. “I couldn’t survive the First Blade being inside my body.”

“And you’re always so honest in your dealings with me. I think I’ll just reassure myself of that before I start torturing your pets to find out where it actually is.”

“Don’t touch him,” Sam said. His muscles were taut, fighting against Crowley’s power to get free.

“Because we’ve all come to mean so much to each other?” Crowley scoffed at him. “’Fraid not, Moose.”

“Because I’ll kill you if you do,” Dean said. He struggled, knowing it was pointless, but unable to just watch as Crowley sliced Cas open. “I swear to God I will.”

“Because,” Sam said, “I’m telling you not to. Obedire, et recedemus, daemon!”

Dean twisted his head away as a burst of light flared from around Sam. It rippled across the walls, tracing the shape of sigils as it raced around the room. 

Crowley hissed; his face turned red. The knife clattered to the floor and he started clawing at his skin.

“You…” he gasped, but then he couldn’t say anything else. With a strangled cry of pain, he was gone.

The pressure pinning the brothers to the wall lifted in the same instant. They collapsed forward, and immediately reached for Castiel but the chain around the angel’s neck had disappeared with Crowley.

“What the hell was that?” Dean demanded. They helped Cas sit back, and damn if he didn’t seem to be bleeding more from trying to fight against the demon.

“I wanted to know more about the wards Sinclair put in the bunker,” Sam said. He grabbed a first aid kit from Dean’s bedside cabinet and set it down on the bed. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt, us being legacies and all, and in case we ever needed to redo or undo them. Turned out he’d considered the possibility of a powerful demon getting inside the bunker. That was his equivalent of a magical sprinkler system, I guess – turn on in case of demon attack. One time only deal, though.”

“And you’re just mentioning it now?”

Sam frowned at him. “I didn’t even know if it would work and we kind of needed to get home invaded in order to try it.”

“I’m not complaining,” Dean relented, the thought of Crowley playing Operation with Cas enough to make him feel physically sick. “Let’s get you patched up, Cas, huh?”

Cas slumped against him, all energy and fight just drained out of him. “I appreciate what you did,” he said, quietly. “Just don’t ever do it again.”

Dean slid a hand under Cas’s jaw and forced him to look up. “The rescue or the trade?”

Cas didn’t seem able to reply and Dean figured the look on his face had probably convinced the angel it was best to just shut up.

“Good answer,” he said, shortly. “Ok, let’s get you out of those things so we can see what a mess they’ve made of you.”


	11. Chapter 11

It took a while to clean Cas up. The wounds from his mistreatment were healing, slowly, so they did what they could to help them along. They cleaned all of them out, stitched the worst, and dressed them.

Trying to bathe or shower Cas didn’t seem like much of an idea, so they used a damp cloth to clean off the blood until he was healed enough to get washed properly.

Cas passed out around half way through, likely a combination of exhaustion, stress and pain, and they let him. There wasn’t much in the way of medication they had on hand – or probably in existence – they could give to an angel and it killed Dean to think unconsciousness was the only relief Cas could get.

Had he passed out in Heaven, while they were busy ‘saving’ him? 

Had he even heard Dean’s prayers, or suffered thinking it wouldn’t stop, that he’d been abandoned?

Dean tried to push those thoughts away; all they did was make him angry and hurt, and anything negative just rushed through him and down to the tramp stamp on his arm. It sucked everything in, and he had a hard enough time ignoring it when things were going ok – rare as that was. 

But thinking about the shit Cas had been through – not just the most recent abuses he’d suffered – was enough to have him itching for the chance to kill something. He didn’t think he’d be choosy either – those bastards in Heaven, for sure, but Crowley’s name was on his shit list as well, and Rowena.

To be honest, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t set foot outside the bunker and just tear into the first living thing he came across though the people who’d hurt his family would definitely take precedence.

Once they were done, he pulled up a chair and settled down next to the bed. Cas slept on, buried under blankets, only his hair sticking out to show he was actually in there and that someone hadn’t just stacked some pillows up to make it look like he was.

But Cas had started to shake, and Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was cold or having a nightmare, but he wasn’t prepared to chance it. So he’d covered him up well, and whispered to him that he was home, he was safe.

He’d calmed down after that, but Dean wasn’t about to leave him in case it happened again.

Sam tried to pester him into coming through to the kitchen for something to eat, and then bedding down in one of the spare rooms, but Dean chased him away.

This was his watch, his responsibility – it was because of him this had happened, and even though he couldn’t get his head around it he wasn’t going to let Cas down. Not again.

**

He woke up in the middle of the night at the sensation of wool against his skin, to find Castiel carefully draping a blanket over him.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, quietly. “I’ve been to check on Sam, and he’s asleep. Dean, you should have gone to bed.”

“What are you doing up?” Dean asked, blearily. He sat up stiffly, the blanket falling down off his shoulders. “Dammit, Cas, you were getting tortured maybe eight hours ago.”

Cas winced and Dean felt like a shit all over again. “I mean, are you ok?”

Castiel tugged up the loose undershirt of Sam’s they’d dressed him in. He peeled off the largest of the dressings, the one covering a wicked slice across his abdomen. The skin underneath was pink, but the scar was almost faded.

“It takes a little longer when it isn’t my Grace,” he said.

Dean covered his face with his hands. Well, he should have known they wouldn’t get away with it without Cas knowing. 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said, looking up. “We didn’t have any choice, you looked like you were about to check out.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Cas said. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I killed Theo to survive. To get away from him, and the others holding me prisoner, and to survive the injuries he inflicted on me. It’s not an ideal way to stay alive, Dean, but at present it seems to be my only option.”

Dean leaned forward. “Cas, we’re gonna fix that. Metatron knows where your Grace is, right? We can get him to tell us.”

Cas smiled sadly at him. “Dean, I doubt he kept any of it in reserve. He worked a powerful spell to cast every angel out of Heaven and then close the gates. And even if he did, how could we get him to tell us where it is?”

Dean looked away. He knew Cas wasn’t pointing fingers, but he got the angel’s point all the same. Dean had had Metatron at his mercy, had carved him up until he was leaking Grace and screaming, but still the little bastard hadn’t given up any information on how to remove the Mark.

And after what they’d done, Heaven would probably be after all three of them with a vengeance.

The realisation of that was just starting to hit him. It had been a few years since Heaven had been actively hunting the three of them; back then it was because Michael wanted him, and because Sam was Lucifer’s vessel, and because Castiel had rebelled.

They’d lived that year like refugees on the run, while trying to stop the end of the world, and Dean wasn’t keen to go back to that. Sure, they had the bunker now, but he remembered how certain Gadreel had been that even the most warded place on the planet would be no safe haven.

Looking back, he was sure now that Gadreel had just been paranoid – given the fact that the guy had spent millennia in solitary confinement, he could understand that – and also worried that Cas might somehow click as to who he really was. 

But even if Gadreel had lied, or just panicked, would it ever be safe for them to leave? Much as he loved the bunker, much as it was their home now, he couldn’t spend forever cooped up within its walls. Even if he didn’t have the mark on him, but since he did he knew it wouldn’t tolerate being imprisoned because a bunch of dick angels were on the warpath.

“We’re fucked,” he muttered. 

Cas put a hand on his knee. “I don’t know why they felt such a compulsion to _heal_ me,” he said, “or why they so convinced that we’d….” He trailed off, unsure.

Dean grinned at him. “You can say it, Cas. That we had sexual relations.”

Cas gave him a disapproving look, but Dean could see the amusement behind it. That was a start, he guessed. “But I don’t think they’ll try it again. I’m not so important that they’ll come after me. I think maybe Devorah was following Hannah’s example, and trying to bring home any angels who’d remained on Earth. Possibly Hannah wanted me back more than the rest did.”

He looked forlorn and ill at ease, and Dean realised there was a lot he needed to know about what had happened, but given Hannah’s behaviour at the back entrance he could believe what Cas said.

“She let us go, though,” Dean said. “Cas, can you tell me? I know it’s probably hard, but I need to know what they did.”

He watched the angel appraise him, could almost read his thoughts – Cas wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know, or the Mark did, but maybe Cas needed to get it out anyway.

And if this was going to be a problem going forward, Dean wanted to know who they’d be up against.

So Cas told him, starting with the sudden appearance of the other angels at the diner. A fight over so fast, he didn’t really remember it. And then waking up in Heaven to find himself in a cell with Metatron.

He didn’t say it, but Dean could see Cas was still horrified at being unconscious and vulnerable in the presence of the scribe, and he couldn’t blame him. The little fuck could have done anything, but he guessed it was more fun for him – thankfully – to toy with people when they were awake.

Then Cas told Dean about the Curia, and being judged, and dragged away.

And then he started to speak about Vincent. He didn’t dwell on the details, mostly what Vincent had said, rather than done, although Dean could sense he was glossing over some of the details.

He didn’t know why and he wanted to call Cas out on it. There wasn’t anything he could tell him that was worse than his imagination but this was Castiel’s decision. If he didn’t feel like going through every painful detail, then Dean would accept it.

But what he didn’t say just made Dean convinced the truth of it was maybe worse than anything he could think of.

He told Dean openly about Hannah trying to force herself on him, and Dean was surprised to see the angel’s eyes filling up.

“Cas,” he said. “C’mon, it’s ok.”

“I trusted her,” he said. “I…I thought she was my friend, but I guess I turned her against me just like I did all the rest of them. Every angel in Heaven fears or loathes me, Dean. Believes I’m tainted or damaged. And they’re probably right.”

“No,” Dean said. He grabbed hold of Castiel’s shoulders, shook him, anything to bring the angel’s eyes to meet his own. “They’re not. Don’t you fucking start that with me. They fear you because you’re the only one who’s had the guts to consistently knock them on their asses when they start trying to shit all over humanity, and the ones who loathe you do it because they know you’re the spanner in the works. They’re the ones who don’t want you upsetting the apple cart, threatening whatever power they’ve got over the rest of them.

“And if you are damaged, Cas, it’s because they’ve done their best to break you. But you’re still here, still fighting. We’re all a little broken, Cas, but we’re stronger because of it.”

Cas stared at him, and Dean saw the desperation there. Cas wanted to believe him, but the hell of it was he’d spent eons being told all he was good for was the services he could provide, the level of obedience he could maintain to Heaven’s not so holy writ.

He was programmed – there was no other way to put it – to feel like that was his only purpose, and if he fled the flock it was because he was a factory reject, or evil, or malfunctioning.

Dean wondered what it would take to get Cas to see that was just party rhetoric. A way to keep the angels in line. 

And even if it was true for the rest of them, it was certainly not true for Cas.

“It’s ok,” he insisted, and then he was pulling Cas in against him, arms locked tight around him. He couldn’t think of anything else to do, any other way to tell Cas, to show him, that he didn’t think he was tainted. Or damaged, or ruined, or worthless. And that he certainly wasn’t going to let them finish what they’d started. “Gonna keep you safe, Cas. I promise.”

Cas slumped into him a little, and he hugged Dean back. He felt Cas start to shake, and he started to let go, thinking Cas was cold again.

“Don’t,” Cas said. Then he dropped his forehead to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, of course you can let go if you want to.”

Dean squeezed him harder. “Well, I don’t.”

He yawned suddenly, so wide his jaw nearly cracked. “Jeez. I’m the one who should be apologising, I bet I nearly deafened you.”

Castiel disengaged himself from Dean’s arms. “I think you should get into bed and I’ll watch over you this time. Don’t argue, Dean, please.”

Dean held up his hands in surrender. He was exhausted, the rescue and the close call with Crowley starting to catch up with him. Bed seemed like a good idea, but he didn’t like the thought of Cas staying up all night.

“Aren’t you still tired?”

Cas gave him a look. “I was unconscious. I’m fine now.”

“Fine.” Dean shook his head. “I swear you’d walk around with your head hanging off.”

He half expected the head tilt and Cas to take his comment literally, but the angel took him by surprise. “I’ve seen you do it often enough; maybe I’m just following by example.”

Dean grinned at him. He could hardly call bullshit on Cas when he did the same damn thing. “Ok. You’ll wake me if you need anything?”

Cas pulled him out of the chair, and pushed him towards the bed. “I won’t, but if I do then yes, I’ll wake you.”

Dean watched Cas lift up the blankets, and tugged them out of the angel’s hands. “Nope. No tucking in.”

He got in and drew the blankets up to his ears, and stared up at the angel standing over him. “Night, Cas. I’m glad we got you back.”

“Not as much as I am,” Cas said.

He stepped out of sight, and Dean closed his eyes. Maybe all wasn’t right with the world, but it was a whole lot closer with his brother and their angel safely home.

He didn’t say anything when the felt the other blanket being draped over him and tucked in around him.

If it made Cas feel better, then he could let it go this once.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean woke up around eleven the next morning, frowning at his alarm clock when he saw it had been turned off.

Sneaky angel.

Still, he wasn’t going to complain. Despite what had happened in the past day or so, he hadn’t slept that well in a long time. In fact the last time he could remember was not long after meeting Cas, when the angel had picked up on the chronic nightmares keeping him awake and making him turn increasingly to booze as a sedative.

He’d fought Cas on helping him, but then one night Dean had fallen asleep with some inexplicable conviction that he wasn’t going to have any nightmares – no reason that he could come up with, just a sure knowledge that he and Sam were safe, and nothing was going to happen to them that night.

Looking back on it, he’d become certain Cas had stayed invisible in the room that night, and maybe put some kind of angel whammy on him for good measure.

He guessed the same thing had happened last night. Or maybe it was just that he had Cas back, alive and mostly ok, when he’d been so certain he’d never see him again. Not alive, anyway.

That wasn’t to say his mind wasn’t still full of the horrors of what the other angels had done to him, again, but Cas’s presence had kept any nightmares about it at bay.

Even if the angel wasn’t sitting in the chair anymore, Dean figured just him being in the bunker was enough.

He got up and padded out into the hall. If Sam was up, then this late in the morning, they’d probably either be in the kitchen waiting for him or in the library like the pair of nerds the two of them were.

It turned out to be the kitchen; the smell of bacon led him straight there by the nose. 

Cas was sitting in front of Sam’s laptop, and as Dean came up behind him he could see the screen loading and changing without the angel having to actually touch the keyboard. 

“Show off,” he grumbled, and clapped Cas’s back as he sat down. “You ok?”

Cas nodded. “Sam removed the dressings this morning. All my injuries have healed.”

“Morning, sleepy head,” Sam said as he started plating up bacon and… _yes_ , Sam, and eggs. Dean grinned goofily at his brother.

“Just because I chose to sleep instead of getting runners’ knee,” he said. “How the hell have you got that kind of energy, Sam? We didn’t do enough running yesterday?”

Sam ignored his jibe, and shoved a plate in front of both Dean and Cas, once he’d convinced the angel to put the laptop aside.

“Humour me,” he insisted as Cas started to push the plate across to Dean. “And stop trying to feed him up, he’s getting pudgy.”

Dean had forked up some bacon, and paused with it half way to his mouth. “Sorry, what? I am not getting pudgy. You’re just freakishly fit.”

“Dean seems the perfect weight for his height,” Cas added.

“See? The angel knows best.” Dean smirked at Sam and stuffed the bacon into his mouth.

“The ideal weight range allows a few pounds in either direction, anyway,” Cas added, and then started to carefully cut both the bacon and eggs on his plate into small even pieces.

He didn’t look up, and Dean stared at him suspiciously for a moment.

“Oh, ha, ha, you two are so freaking funny, I don’t even. Eat your damn breakfast.”

He shot Sam the finger, and got an amused look in return, but after that he stole tiny side glances at Cas as he nibbled his way carefully through his food.

He didn’t doubt Cas was doing it to please them, but it felt almost normal having the three of them sitting down and eating together. And maybe Cas was getting something out of it too, other than calories he’d just mojo out of his system later.

After yesterday, they deserved a little normal, a little time together with nothing trying to hurt or kill them.

But, as usual, it didn’t last.

**

Sam’s phone went around two that afternoon, while the three of them were moving another bookcase in to the library to hold the last of Bobby’s collection. They’d meant to do it not long after taking possession of the bunker, but with how things had been at the time and afterwards, this was the first opportunity.

Besides, they had a wavelength of celestial intent on the premises who was really good at moving heavy furniture, so why not take advantage? Dean had got Cas to promise he really was back at 100% before he let him help, but things had gone a lot smoother after that, and then all that was left was to put Bobby’s books on the shelves.

Sam stepped back to answer his phone while Dean sat cross legged on the floor and handed up books from the crate to Cas to put away.

A moment later, Sam was back, and he looked a little puzzled.

“What’s up?” Dean asked. He started to stand up and Cas reached down to grab his arm and almost lifted him onto his feet. 

Dean tsked him, but he could see Cas knew it wasn’t genuine.

“You remember Barry Lewis?” Sam said. “Tall, skinny guy? The one you said you’d never leave your wallet around. Brexton, Baltimore.”

Dean had to think. That one had been a long time ago, a witch stirring up a poltergeist in an apartment building. It was one of the hunts he’d worked real hard at forgetting, but mention of Lewis brought it all back.

“Not just my wallet. I wouldn’t have left you alone around him either.”

Sam paled. “Yeah, thanks for that memory, Dean. Anyway he wants our help on a hunt.”

Dean frowned. “How did he even get our number? It was, like, one hunt. I didn’t give him a card or anything, did you?”

“I gave my number to Chantelle,” Sam said, and pouted when Dean grinned at him. “In case she ever needed anything, Dean; does everything have to revolve around sex with you?”

Dean shrugged but he couldn’t exactly miss such an easy opening as the one Sam had just given him, no way. “So she passed your number to him; maybe she was doing him a favour, Sammy. Took him a while to work up the guts to call you, huh.”

Sam shifted his attention very deliberately to the angel standing next to Dean. “So, _Cas_ , he said he’s at a motel maybe two hours from here. A few of the occupants, and the staff, have disappeared almost overnight, and he isn’t too sure what he’s dealing with. He wants to know if we’ll come out there.”

Dean glared at Sam. “We can pass it to Tony and Pete. They’re always saying they want back in the game, here’s their chance.” All the same he could see the way his brother suddenly looked antsy. “Sam, tell me you didn’t.”

“We’re two hours away, Dean, and he sounded like the shit had hit the fan.”

Dean strode over and grabbed Sam by the arm. “Yeah, a word, now.” He dragged Sam out of the room and into the corridor, but still kept his voice down. “Are you friggin’ crazy? You see that angel in there? Our angel, Sam? The one we had to rescue from getting tortured twenty-four hours ago? And you want to drag the three of us into a hunt. Or what, just us, and leave him here on his own?”

“He’s fine,” Sam insisted. “And maybe this will take his mind off what happened. Ours too.”

“You’ve got a screwed up notion of therapy, Sam. I don’t think he is fine. How the hell can he be fine?”

“The same way you are when something shitty happens. You pretend like you are until you start believing it because that’s as good as it gets for us. If we say no to this and people get killed because we didn’t want to get involved, how crap are we all going to feel? And he told us he wants to be a hunter, to help save people.”

“He does. He is. Just let the guy have a day before you start asking him to go angel commando, okay? Field this one off to somebody else. We’re not going.”

“I told him we were.”

“So call him back and tell him you were wrong.”

Dean stalked back into the library. Castiel had put several more books away, but Dean knew from the tense set of his shoulders that he’d likely heard every word – super angel hearing.

“I’m recovered enough to go with you,” he said, as Dean bent down and picked up another handful of books to pass to him. “If your friend is in trouble, he needs help.”

“He’s not our friend,” Dean said. He knew he sounded pissed off, but he couldn’t help it and he hoped Cas knew it wasn’t at him. “We did one hunt with the guy; he wasn’t a complete screw up, but we never heard from him after that until today. Barely even know him so why we’re the guys he reaches out to, and now….”

Cas turned to face him. “I’m not letting what happened stop any of us from doing what we have to do. We should go and see what happened at this motel. Maybe we can stop whatever it is.”

Dean took the last three books he held and shoved them hard into the bookcase, rocking it. “And maybe it’s more than we can handle, and we get hurt. You get hurt. Can I maybe get more than a day between watching you bleed and pass out?”

Cas fell silent. He took the three books Dean had put away and put them a shelf down. For one childish moment, Dean wanted to pick them back up and throw them across the room, but they had belonged to Bobby. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Bobby stormed right down from Heaven to kick his ass for it, so he left them where Cas had put them.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. “I didn’t mean to cause you any concern.”

He said it like he’d inconvenienced them and Dean wanted to scream at him. It took a little time to make sure, when he spoke, that he didn’t sound as pissed off as he felt. “We thought they were going to torture you to death. Or just wipe your memories and reprogram you like they did before.”

“That isn’t-“ Cas started, but Dean silenced him with a glare.

“And then we find a way to get you back and Crowley nearly does some twisted C-section on you in my bed. It’s been a helluva couple of days, Cas. Maybe we could put a few more between us and the next time somebody decides to take a run at us, ok?”

Cas gave him that look, that one where he’d been presented with something he just wasn’t sure about – a turn of phrase, some weird piece of equipment, anything that didn’t quite make sense to the angelic mind – and then turned back to the book case.

Dean was glad. He felt too open when Cas looked at him like that, and he was still too raw inside from what had happened to explore how he felt himself without having Cas drag it all out of him.

Sam came back in then, and he looked worried.

Dean bit back a groan. “What?”

“I tried calling him back,” Sam said. “I tried a few times. He’s not answering.”

Dean let his head sag forward until it rested on the bookcase. “One of these days,” he moaned, “we’ll catch a fucking break.”


	13. Chapter 13

The motel was called the Burley Stop and Drop, which was maybe kind or ironic. Stuffed off a small back road in the middle of nowhere, Dean wondered there were any guests or staff to mysteriously vanish in the first place.

Sam was searching everything he could about strange events in the area – even using an app Charlie had given him to sneak into local law enforcement networks.

“Nothing,” he said, after maybe an hour on the road. “No police records or mentions of any 911 calls, or missing persons reports, or disturbances.”

Cas was in the back seat. He’d been looking out the window, though Dean didn’t know at what; truth be told, he’d spent most of the journey so far paying more attention to Cas than he probably ought.

This was a bad idea. Cas shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t either. Where they should have been was back in the bunker, wards and rock walls and a thick steel door between them and the outside world. He couldn’t believe that only a few hours ago he’d been panicked over the thought of them never been able to risk going out again.

But he returned his attention to Sam just as Castiel leaned forward. It was impossible to tell if the angel knew Dean had been eye stalking him since they’d left home; given Castiel’s penchant for weird intense looks and no notion of personal space, if he did he probably hadn’t given it any thought.

“Maybe your friend gave you the wrong address,” he said. “Or things escalated so quickly there hasn’t been time for the authorities to be involved.”

“Not our friend,” Dean muttered, but he didn’t miss the pissed-off-princess look Sam gave him. He shrugged it off angrily. “Still not answering his phone?”

Sam’s jaw was set hard, annoyance radiating off of him. He flicked at the screen of his cell, and then turned it enough that Dean could see missed call after missed call in his outbound call display.

“Fucking great,” he said, under his breath, but well aware they both heard him. “Ok, then, I guess we’re just driving into who knows friggin’ what. Just as well we’re awesome, right, Sammy?”

“You know what,” Sam started. He twisted around hard in his seat. “Maybe if you just actually faced what’s really got you so pissed, then you’d stop making this about what hasn’t.”

For two seconds, Dean was ready to just screech them to a halt at the side of the road. He felt a dull roar of temper that almost had him fading out, and though he tried to hold on everything started to slip away.

And then Castiel’s hand was on his shoulder, and he felt something tingle through him. Sam was talking to him, something about them pulling in so he could drive, and everything just slotted back into place like nothing had happened.

“Yeah? No way, Sammy. I’m breathing and conscious.”

Sam gave him a hurt look and then stared at the road ahead. Cas’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment before the angel finally sat back.

Dean didn’t miss the way he could still feel the warmth of his touch for ages afterwards, but it was probably his imagination. 

**

They reached the motel about an hour later, and Dean drove past it at first without even slowing down. Ten minutes along the road, he pulled the car to the side and turned so he could see Sam and Cas at the same time.

“What do you think?”

“Four cars parked up,” Sam said. “I can’t remember what Barry drives.”

“Piece of shit hybrid,” Dean said, his mouth twisting like he’d tasted something dirty. “It wasn’t there. Unless he got some taste and traded up.”

“There were no lights on,” Cas added. “I didn’t see anybody or any movement. The building seemed deserted.”

“Great. You think he bailed?”

Sam gave a half shrug. “Doesn’t explain him not answering his phone. I don’t think he went from needing help to deal with this to fixing it all on his own in two hours.”

Dean turned around again, and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He still felt this was the worst idea they’d had in a while, just couldn’t shake the conviction that they were about to walk into a fuck ton of trouble. And while he didn’t want Sam or Cas in danger, he also knew they had a responsibility to anybody in that motel, and to Barry, whether he had an eye for Sam or not and even though he was the reason they were out here.

He nodded, once, and then turned the car around and started back the way they’d came.

The motel didn’t look any livelier the second time they came up on it. This time, Dean indicated and pulled in, though he picked a space away from the other cars, where he had room to turn them around fast if they had to get out in a hurry.

They got out and each of them kept turned enough that they could watch the surroundings and each other’s backs. It wasn’t their first rodeo, but even so Dean couldn’t shake his misgivings. None of this felt right, none of it made any sense. Maybe he was being paranoid; maybe he was just being overprotective.

But they were his family, that was his job, to keep them safe and he was through screwing it up. 

For one nearly overwhelming moment, he was on the verge of shoving both his brother and his angel back in the car and getting the hell out of Dodge, but then Castiel moved past him towards the office, and Sam fell into step alongside.

His temper coiled in his stomach, briefly, but he moved after them, keeping a close eye on their surroundings for any movement.

Castiel pushed at the door to the office, met resistance, and then turned the handle with a crunch. The door swung inward, and he went in, putting the broken door handle down on the counter.

It was dark inside; not just because the lights were off – it had a power cut feel to it. There was a phone-fax machine on one corner of the counter, but it was dead. Even the vending machine was too quiet, and Dean wondered if that was the problem here. 

The power had gone out and everybody had just taken off.

Leaving their cars behind.

Sam leaned forward so he could peer over the counter, and then straightened with a shrug. The office was literally a room split in two by the counter. No other doors, nowhere to hide.

Dean led them back out. He knew how this would go if it was any other day, any other hunt. They would split up, start checking rooms, keeping each other in sight.

But he couldn’t make himself move away from them. He knew it was partly the Mark; there was a lot Cain hadn’t told him about it, that Dean was figuring out for himself. 

When it seemed to have sated itself and gone to sleep, he could examine its influence on him more easily than when it was up and growling at him from the corner. The blood lust was one thing, but the urge to control and dominate and protect was another. He wondered if Cain had experienced the same thing; the closest thing to family he’d had, after killing Abel, were the Knights of Hell. Had he fostered such a desire to have them fall in line for him, so he could keep them close and safe?

Or was this just him, the Mark amplifying what it found in him to the max? The anger at the shitty things that kept happening, the absolute need to keep his family together and as protected as he could, even if he had to make them knuckle under to do it?

Sam snapped his fingers, impatiently, and Dean glared at him. He watched Sam sign out that they should split up; he’d start from the nearest side, Dean could take the far side, and Cas could take the rooms in the middle of the L shaped block.

Dean nearly snarled at him that they were sticking together, thank you very friggin’ much, Sam, but bit down on it. It was probably a good idea to let Sam run this one – not just because it was his damn fault they were out here anyway – so he acquiesced with a nod. 

All the same, it was damn hard to watch them move away from him, and almost impossible to keep his mind on the door he was about to open instead of staring at them knocking once quietly and then going in to the other rooms by themselves.

**

Castiel hadn’t had time to answer as Sam had leaned into him and whispered, “Watch Dean,” right before the younger brother had moved over to the first door on the right of the block.

He didn’t have to, because Sam had clearly seen Dean was again struggling with the effects of the Mark. Cas had too; he likened it to a swimmer being carried out from shore by a strong tide. Dean would try to get back to land, and get close, only for the current to push him back out a little further. Then he’d tread water, conserve his strength, and try again.

And each time he got washed a little further away and Castiel wondered how long it would be before he was out of sight of them altogether.

And what they’d be left with once that happened.

Well, it wouldn’t. Maybe he was once again running on stolen Grace, thanks to Crowley, but Cas had no intention of losing Dean to a millennia old curse. Even if he had his own Grace, he knew he wouldn’t have been strong enough to remove the Mark, but he’d have a better chance of helping Dean fight off its influence.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. Cain was dead, so couldn’t be questioned, but he’d surrendered in the end to the homicidal compulsions that clearly hadn’t all been passed to Dean. Even if they had managed to catch him, Castiel doubted he would have been of any help. He’d been insane, probably for centuries, but definitely by the end. Lucid, but insane.

Crowley probably knew more than he was saying, or wanted them to think so, but Castiel believed his knowledge was probably limited more to the First Blade than the Mark itself. That left Metatron, who was now possibly permanently out of their reach, unless he could somehow make overtures to Heaven.

Up until a couple of days ago, when his brothers and sisters had kidnapped him from the diner, he’d hoped that was possible. But now he knew better. If he returned to Heaven, he could expect no mercy there – or, more frighteningly, receive what passed for it behind the gates. They would either not care that Dean was afflicted, or care enough to send a garrison to kill him.

Not for the first time, Cas wished he still had his wings. There was a world of knowledge, of resources that he no longer had access to because it meant driving for days, or going by airplane or boat to places he could have reached in seconds before. Somewhere out there was the way to help Dean, and he hated the thought that he was cut off from it because of Metatron’s hate and his own foolishness and naiveté.

He knocked once, and opened the motel door. It was dark inside, but that was no impediment to him; the bedroom was empty, though there was a suitcase lying open on top of the covers. He checked the bathroom but there was no one there.

Unless this was Barry’s room, the hunter had been honest when he’d phoned Sam to report a peculiar situation at the motel.

Castiel let his blade slide down into his hand the moment he sensed a presence behind him. It wasn’t Dean or Sam. He turned swiftly, brought the weapon up, ready to kill whatever had tried to sneak up on him.

The vampire hissed its annoyance as it ducked his swing; even in the dark, Castiel could see its fangs slip down, wickedly sharp. 

“Well,” it said. “Never fed off an angel before. What about you, Beth?”

Another one appeared in the doorway; she was tall, solid. “No. But I guess first time for everything. Well, angel, you ain’t gonna have to worry about the early check out.”

**

Dean found Barry shoved under the bed of the room he searched first. He hauled the hunter out, checked him fast but carefully, all the time keeping an eye on the door. 

His neck was broken. That explained why he hadn’t answered Sam’s calls. But things were starting to link up in Dean’s head. The out of the blue phone call, when they weren’t even in the guy’s network. Mystery disappearances, specific enough to be a case, random enough that they couldn’t solve it with a quick fix over the phone – they had to come. And then Barry’s phone just ringing out…

Dean figured once he’d baited the hook, he had no further use, but he wondered what had snapped his neck and hidden him away. No doubt he’d find out but it all came together to confirm just one thing to him.

It was a fucking trap.

Dean wondered if they’d tortured Barry into it; what they’d offered him to sell them out. Who the hell was behind this, but there was time to work that out.

First he had to get Sam and Cas and get back to the car. Worry about the who and the why once they weren’t bang in the middle of an elaborate scheme to catch them.

He heard a snarl from the doorway, and turned in time to see a guy in his mid fifties launch himself across the room.

He was fast and lithe for his age, which told Dean he definitely wasn’t human, not the way he bounced back when Dean shouldered him aside.

He caught a glimpse of fangs, wished he’d brought a machete, but grabbed his angel blade from his belt anyway. Those things could cut through any freak he’d faced off against so far; it might take a little more effort, but he could still behead a bloodsucker no problem at all.

The vamp came at him again, swinging out a punch that was sharp and fast, but Dean ducked it and sliced the blade straight across its throat. The vampire crashed backwards, gargling and thrashing as it hit the floor. 

It was on its way out – an angel blade was a kill-all, essentially – but it was taking its damn time, and he knew if there was one vampire, there were definitely more.

“Shut up,” he snapped at it. He dropped down to put one knee on its chest and grabbed its hair with a fist. The angle was awkward as anything but he was strong enough to make it work, and he cut downwards hard with the angel blade until the vampire’s head hung heavily from his other hand.

He got breathlessly to his feet; he wasn’t winded, but it was like a ton of adrenaline had just been dumped right into his system. He tossed the head aside, and bolted outside. They wouldn’t just have jumped him, which might right now Cas and Sam were probably fighting as well.

A second later, a vampire came crashing backwards through the window of the room Sam had been checking. It rolled and came to its feet, but Dean was behind it by the time it started back towards the room.

He spun it around, slammed the angel blade up through its jaw, into its brain and then wrenched the blade forward. Its head split open, gore and blood spraying over him, and he gave it a shove to send it finally toppling back to the ground.

Sam staggered out to the door. He was bleeding from a cut above his eye, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

But Sam’s eyes fell on the vampire, then on the bloody mess its death had made of him, and Dean could almost read his thoughts, his stricken horror at the damage.

What the hell did he want? Dead was dead, one less vampire trying to kill them. Did it matter if he did it cleanly or not? Fuck his brother and the critique over his form.

They heard a pained grunt from the middle room, and they both bolted towards it. A burning flash of light dazzled their eyes, stealing away their night vision for a few vital moments, but when they were finally able to make it inside the room, they saw Cas standing in between two more dead vampires.

One looked as if its head had been torn clean off, and the other had its eyes scorched out.

He glanced Cas over, quickly. The angel looked unharmed, which was just as damn well, given the trap they’d walked into. He started to round on Sam.

“Good job,” he snapped at him. “Next time somebody asks us to step in on a hunt, how’s about you let me decide if we go or not, huh?”

Sam spun to glare at him. “We’re really gonna do this? Now? Is this actually because I took a phone call, Dean, or because you didn’t get to call the shots this time around? Or because you won’t get your head out of your ass and really admit to yourself what’s going on in there!”

He tapped a finger on Dean’s forehead, and Dean reacted with a hard push that sent Sam staggering back against the window.

“You bastard,” Dean snarled at him. “You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me raising your ass, Sam, and saving it a couple of hundred times. Mostly from you, ‘cause you screw up more than anybody I ever met.”

“Enough,” Cas said. He stepped between them, hands raised, and he glared at Dean. But Dean wasn’t ready to back down. He’d let these two have their own way long enough, and all it had ever done was bring trouble to their door.

“Except maybe you,” he said as he turned his anger on Cas. “I let you out of the bunker to go lore hunting and you’re gone three days and you get yourself kidnapped. Don’t even get me started on the shit from before. I gotta have eyes in the back of my head with you two, and maybe I am sick and tired of watching you both try to get yourselves killed!”

Cas didn’t blink. He didn’t step back and he didn’t look away. Dean wanted to shove him, but what the hell would be the point? He wasn’t strong enough yet to overpower an angel, but it was coming. And worse, he could tell at some point that might be the only way to keep him, both of them, safe. What the hell were they doing to him that he was going to be forced to get physical to keep them both from harm.

“Dean,” Cas said, and then he put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, held on so Dean couldn’t just shrug him off. “Don’t let it take you.”

He wanted to scream at Cas. Wanted to let it pour out of him, all the fear and the rage, what he’d let get pent up because so many times when what he felt was just too hard and to huge to cram into words and so he either swallowed it down or just pushed away whoever had made him feel that way.

He knew it was the Mark, he knew it – but it made things so simple. It didn’t let things get complicated. If something needed done, do it. No right or wrong, no consideration of consequences. And then Cas touched him and all the rest of it came flooding back in, and it was too much and it actually hurt.

“We shouldn’t have left the bunker,” he heard Sam say, and Castiel muttered something. Then he pulled Dean towards him, into his arms, and Dean felt himself surrender. Something seemed to move from Cas into him, and it called a halt to the war within him, maybe just a ceasefire, but it was so welcome he could have cried.

Maybe he was.

“Cas,” he groaned.

“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas said. “We will fix this.”

He felt Sam fumbling in his pocket, retrieving the Impala’s keys. “I’ll turn her around; give me a minute.”

Dean jerked out of Castiel’s grip, started to turn towards Sam. It wasn’t safe for him to go out there, because they’d been lured here, and there was no way this was over.

Sam backed away, keys held tight in his fist, like he thought Dean might try to grab them back. “Dammit, Dean, I know how to drive.”

“Sam,” he started, but then something moved across the window, just a shadow, right before the glass crashed inward and Sam yelled in alarm as something grabbed hold of him. Castiel leapt forward, but by the time he reached the window Sam was gone. 

He and Dean raced outside but the only thing they found were the car keys, lying among the shards of glass and broken pieces of window frame.

“Sam!” Dean yelled. He spun around, eyes scanning the parking lot and then the rooftops. “Sam!”


	14. Chapter 14

Dean picked up the keys with trembling hands. His stupid brother was gone, because he and their stupid angel didn’t know when to listen, when to just do as they were told. Everything Cas had driven out of him started to flood right back in.

“Dean,” Cas started, but Dean turned on him and shut him up with a look.

“If you’d just listened to me, if we’d just left this alone like I said we should, this wouldn’t have happened. What the hell is wrong with you two? Don’t you get it? Have I got to force you? Why can’t you just do as I ask!”

“Because,” Castiel snapped back at him. “It isn’t you who’s asking. Just like it isn’t you that’s pointing that gun at me, Dean.”

Dean stared in horror at his hand. It was true; his arm was straight and locked, the gun in his hand, his finger resting on the trigger. He didn’t remember taking it from his waistband. He swallowed against the sudden nausea, and willed his arm to relax. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know… Cas, I’m sorry. But I shouldn’t have brought you two here, I shouldn’t have let you come. Those things… They’re not the only monster here.”

Cas moved in closer as if Dean hadn’t just pointed a gun at him. He took the weapon and put the safety on, then shoved it into his pocket. “You are not a monster, Dean. You never have been, and even if the Mark is trying to force you to do things, you keep resisting it. That proves I’m speaking the truth. It won’t claim you, Dean.”

“You’re the reason I can fight it,” Dean said. He wished Cas would come closer still, close enough so he could just let go and have Cas catch him. “You, and Sam. If I didn’t have you, it would have swallowed me up by now. But it keeps trying. Cas, what am I gonna do?”

Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’ll continue to fight it. We’ll find a way to remove it and then you’ll be free of it. But for now, we need to find Sam and get out of here. Can you hold on for me, Dean?”

Dean felt his eyes drawn towards his arm. There was a faint orange gleam from behind his jacket, like the Mark sensed it was losing ground. But Cas didn’t let him stare at it for long. A moment later his hand was under Dean’s jaw, guiding his attention back up. 

“Dean.”

Dean nodded. When he spoke, his voice didn’t seem to be his own – it sounded rough and broken, and he realised he felt exactly the same. He wasn’t going to be able to do this much longer. “Yeah. I’m with you. Find Sam, get out. Ok. But we should split up – we’ll find him faster that way.”

Cas was reluctant, but before he could start with reasons why they shouldn’t, Dean got in first. “We can cover more ground, and if either of us finds him, we’ll let each other know,” he said. “Nobody does anything on their own, ok?”

The angel wasn’t happy about it, but Dean figured he was choosing his battles. He was glad Cas gave in, because the longer they stood there the more Dean felt the Mark was calling to him and the adrenaline running through him wasn’t helping. 

As long as Sam was in trouble, as long as they were trapped in the monster version of Identity, he was going to struggle with it. Fighting it was starting to seem crazy; it was what he needed to find his brother, and get him and Cas out of here in one piece.

But he wasn’t going to let Cas down. Or Sam. He clapped Cas on the shoulder, told him to stay safe, and then headed to the next motel room along.

**

He hadn’t figured whatever creature had taken Sam would be dumb enough to hide out in any of the rooms, but who knew, so he covered all the bases.

He was right, though; the rooms were all empty though there were signs that some hadn’t been up until recently.

Blood stains on the carpets, walls, beds – signs of struggle. He found a gun on the floor in one room, a speed loader next to it. Somebody had seen something coming up at them, but just been too slow to do anything about it.

Not that a .32 revolver would have been much good against what he’d seen prowling the motel so far, but the poor bastard in this room hadn’t known that. 

He came to the end of the row, wondering if he should risk phoning Cas to see if he was ok. But if Cas had found Sam, he’d already have called him, and Dean knew dialling his friend’s phone out of the blue was risky. Anything around the angel might hear it; besides, with him searching in one direction and Cas in the other, it wouldn’t be long until they bumped in each other again.

Of course, the longer they went without finding anything, the closer they’d be to whatever had taken Sam.

He fought against the fear that Sam might already be dead. He wasn’t. He _wasn’t_. Dean had always held to the conviction that if Sam were ever truly lost to him he’d have felt like – like something breaking inside of him. But it was more than that which convinced him; this was a trap, and Sam had been taken, which meant the whole purpose was to lure he and Cas after him. 

Whatever was holding Sam, whatever was behind this, when Dean caught up to it he was going to make it sorry in the instant before he killed it.

He circled around the side of the motel, back towards the service buildings at the rear. There was a small convenience store, a laundromat, and what looked to be a garage with a tow truck parked up outside of it. 

Dean scanned his surroundings carefully, and then made a run at the garage. He made it without incident, and pressed himself against the wall as he inched towards the door.

It was open and he crept carefully inside, wondering if Cas was already in here. He hoped not, because there’d been no phone call, which meant Sam was no longer in the complex.

Or Cas wasn’t able to call.

But he heard a groan then, from up ahead, and he moved a little faster than he should have.

Faster, and less careful.

He came out from behind a wreck of a Volkswagen, and felt his blood chill.

There was a guy standing in the middle of the garage. He was maybe five-four, but he was holding Sam above his head like he weighed nothing and didn’t have a foot of height on him.

“Oh, hello,” he said, as he spotted Dean. “I was wondering how long it would take you to come looking for your brother. I suppose mine won’t be far behind, then.”

 _Mine_?

“You’re an angel?” Dean stared at the guy in disbelief. It wasn’t the vessel – angels couldn’t be choosy. Not every person was genetically able to hold an angel, and not everybody who was said yes when angels sought them out. But what the hell was an angel doing here, trying to trap them?

 _I suppose mine won’t be far behind, then_.

“Put him down,” he said. He squeezed his fingers around the hilt of his angel blade, found reassurance in the weight of it. “What the hell is this? Who are you?”

The angel smirked at him. “Such a lot of questions. No, I won’t put him down. Not yet, anyway. He allows for some security until I have you restrained. As for what all of this is, I thought that would be obvious. It’s a trap. I needed something serious to lure the three of you out from your little fortress and a regular hunt wouldn’t do the job, not while you were babysitting your injured little angel. Though I suppose he’s mostly recovered by now.”

Dean inched closer but as long as the angel had a hold of Sam, his options were limited. “He isn’t,” he lied. “We had to leave him there, not that it’s any business of yours.”

“Liar, liar. I know he came along. He’d hardly let his two favourite humans venture out on such a dangerous undertaking alone. He’d sooner cut off his wings than let you two be harmed. Not surprising, given the hold you have over him. The perverse _bond_ you share. That allowed you to collar an angel and have him submit to you, give you everything that made him holy.”

There was something about him – not physically, Dean had never seen him before. But the things he was saying, the hatred lacing the words. 

“It was you, wasn’t it. Vincent. You’re the bastard that tortured him. And then you what? Found a hunt we’d go for, made Barry call us, and then snapped his neck?”

The angel gave a mocking bow; the movement shook Sam and his brother gave a pain filled whimper.

“I’m telling you for the last time, put him down.”

“Well, I suppose since you’ve figured it out, you deserve a reward. If you want your brother so badly – here. You can have him!”

Vincent launched Sam at Dean then, and Mark of Cain or not, Sam’s weight was enough to send him crashing to the floor with enough force to knock him cold.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean came to, groggy and in pain, to find Vincent standing over Sam. He snarled and tried to get up, but metal clanked as he moved and he found he was chained to a pillar.

Sam was too, and when Vincent stepped away Dean was relieved to see his brother was alive – and struggling – but unfortunately gagged.

Just as he was himself, but if Vincent thought that was going to stop them warning Cas he was some kind of idiot.

_Cas_ , Dean thought, desperately, _you gotta run, man, get out of here. Vincent’s waiting for you. Just go, Cas, please_!

He doubted Cas would run, but at least he’d know the sadistic freak who’d tortured him was lying in wait.

When he saw the cocky smile on the angel’s face, Dean’s heart sank. Vincent looked upwards, and Dean followed his gaze overhead. 

There were weird markings burned into the roof; he couldn’t translate, but he knew Enochian when he saw it. That plus the over confidence Vincent was exhibiting could only mean he’d considered they’d try to warn Cas by praying to him.

“I did think you’d try that,” Vincent said. He came over and crouched down in front of Dean. “Tell him I was here. But that would rather spoil the surprise. None of us want that, do we?”

_So you can hear me_? Dean thought at him. _It only stops us praying to Cas_?

Vincent shook his head. “Any angel within the perimeter can hear your _prayers_ , Dean. I take it you don’t mind if I call you Dean- formality seems so pointless given the circumstances. So I can hear every twisted little thought running through that cesspool of a mind you have, and I can go in there and see everything you’ve ever done to corrupt my brother.”

Dean flinched as if Vincent had reached out to him physically; he knew angels could get inside people’s heads, and Cas had done it on occasion early on. It was how he’d pegged Dean’s emotions that night in the barn, seeing clean through him and looking curiously shocked when he realised Dean had felt so unworthy to be pulled from Hell. 

As they’d got closer, the first promise Cas had made to him was never to do it again with the rider that if either brother’s life were in danger he would break that promise if that was what it took to save them.

Even without it, Dean had never considered Cas would ever be so casual about cracking open his mind and having a good old rummage around.

Other angels – in a heartbeat. For all their superiority, they were no better than the monsters he fought and killed each day. All their talk of family and helping Cas redeem himself, recover from the contamination of being around he and Sam so long.

It was a steaming pile of bullshit, because none of them knew what it was to be part of a family, not if these were the kind of things they did in its name, to actually have people to care about you and to care about in return.

All they knew was power and cruelty and control, and Dean was damned if he was going to let them and their fucked up notions of caretaking in the same room as his angel ever again, not after this.

“But I don’t have to, and I really don’t want to,” Vincent said. His angel blade appeared in his hand, and he turned it carefully, as if admiring the way the light hit the sharp edges. “One angel sullied by you is one too many. I suppose Devorah was right not to let me finish; I was going to cut away any part of him you’d infected, Dean. But I saw after a while that there’d be nothing left of him; I could have sliced every inch of flesh and Grace from both forms and your mark would have been burned through every single part.

“I thought it best to kill him then; one of the Rit Zien was standing by, and he was going to step in, but I wanted to do the job myself. I’d started it, after all. But Devorah thought better of giving Hannah a chance. Pathetic. As if she could ever entice him away from you. You’d already possessed him, his entire being, and it was painful watching her try. And then you two had the gall to breach Heaven and take him from me.”

_Yeah_ , Dean snarled at him. _Now we’re seeing it. You talk about helping him, but you’re a sadistic motherfucker; all you wanted was him helpless so you could hurt him. Don’t try to pretend it was ever about anything else. You’re some piece of work_.

Vincent backhanded him without warning and the blow made Dean’s ears ring. For one horrifying moment, he thought Vincent had shattered his jaw but though the pain was intense he was able to move it and swallow though it took a minute to get his breathing under control.

“He judged me as well,” Vincent said. He set the point of the angel blade against Dean’s throat; Dean heard Sam screaming a protest through his gag. “Somehow, even after everything he’d done, he dared to suggest I was deplorable. Beneath him, because I chose to follow the will of Heaven, and he chose to follow yours.”

Dean tensed as he felt a trickle of blood well up and run down his skin. Vincent was bloodthirsty enough to do it; the plan, to keep them here as bait, had clearly taken a backseat to all the crazy roiling around in his head. 

That was when Dean saw it. It must have fallen out when Vincent had struck him, and now it dangled from a silver chain around his neck: a crystal vial glowing blue against his shirt.

Grace. 

And in that moment, Dean knew who it belonged to.

_You bastard_ , he snarled at Vincent. _You piece of shit, that’s Cas’s Grace_!

Vincent looked down and carefully tucked the vial away again. “Well, I’d been waiting for the right moment to let that cat out of the bag, but I supposed it doesn’t really matter.” He lifted his hand, ready to hit out again, then suddenly leaned back. He twisted part way around, and Dean caught the hateful stare he shot at Sam.

“Oh, I’d almost forgotten about you, Sam. We had some lively discussions about you in Heaven, you know. Whether you had fucked him too. Or just Dean, or whether you both had him and then lay with each other. There was always something twisted in the Campbell and Winchester lines, so I can’t be surprised at the abominations that resulted from your parents’ coupling. I mean, look at what they sired.

“The Boy King, bloated on demon blood, who freed Lucifer and almost burned the world. The Righteous Man, who dealt with demons and soiled an angel, turned the captain of one of Heaven’s most powerful garrisons into little more than a domestic pet. One you let out of his kennel so he can bite someone for you or so you he can give him a good fucking, isn’t that right?”

He glanced briefly at Dean, and then stood up. “I suppose if I want Castiel to come running in here to rescue you, I’ll need to let him know this is actually where you are. Or rather you will. The question is, which of you will I make scream first?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done. I think the lesson I've learned here is it's ok to post works by chapter if YOU'VE ACTUALLY FINISHED THEM (and know where the story is going to go). Long stories: not my strength. I guess it's kind of weird that I only struggled coming into what I figured was the last stretch, and then things got jammed up. But this morning I realised it was maybe because the story had reached where it needed to go and I just didn't notice that earlier.
> 
> Anyway I'm not especially happy with it, but I know a few of you wanted to see how it finished so thank you for being patient and for taking an interest. :) NB - I messed up posting the chapters so there is one more after this, same work, just with the chapters done properly *hides*

“Neither,” Cas said.

Dean’s heart sank as Castiel stepped out of the shadows, his blade slipping down into his hand. 

_He’s got your Grace, Cas, but please just run_ , he urged, because Cas was in the room now; he’d hear every prayer Dean could shove at him. _Cas, run_!

Cas’s eyes widened as he glanced at Dean and then turned his attention back to Vincent. “Did Metatron give it to you? Or did you take it from him?”

Vincent smiled; his gaze flicked once to Dean and then back to Castiel. “Such a tattletale. He had the right idea, you know. A lot of angels aren’t actually _fit_ to be angels. You should have seen them milling around like sheep after the fall. What do we do, where do we go, what happened. Sickening. Only a few showed any backbone. I would have counted you among that number, Castiel, if you hadn’t already sided with the hairless apes.”

Castiel was gradually moving in on Vincent, placing himself between the other angel and Sam. Dean saw it for what it was; distraction. Cas knew Sam could probably get free of the chains holding him if he had enough time and Cas would try to give him that.

“Hundreds of our brothers and sisters died so Metatron could play God.”

“Thousands died when you tried it. If we’re basing who between you is the worst on simple numbers, where does that leave you, Castiel? All that power you swallowed turned you into a naïve child who lost control when you were rejected. Metatron at least knew what he was doing.”

“And now it’s your turn?”

Vincent laughed at him. “Hardly. I know my limitations, Castiel. I’m no God. But I could lead – and I will. I won’t pretend to follow that old bitch any longer. Once I’m through with you and these two humans, I’ll make my move. But I’ll deal with you first, Castiel. No one’s ever defied me and survived it. I don’t intend you to be the first.”

With Vincent’s attention fully on Cas, Dean was working to get loose of his chains as well. Vincent hadn’t searched him, or hadn’t done it properly; a single thin lockpick was still concealed within the cuff of Dean’s jacket sleeve, though it was difficult to work it loose. But finally he managed it and felt along the manacles he wore until he found the keyhole.

Now he just needed a little more time, and then Vincent would be facing an angel and two pissed off hunters.

“These boys have done nothing to you,” Cas said. “If this is all for me, then take me back to Heaven. I’ll go with you, I won’t fight. Leave the Winchesters alone.”

Vincent rolled his right wrist, the angel blade flashing in the gleam of the overhead light. “I don’t think so. They took you from me. They’re as much to blame for everything that happened as you are. And I’ve never tortured a human before – now I have two to play with. I think once I have you helpless, I’ll skin them alive in front of you. Then I’ll extract the last of that stolen Grace from your vessel and make you human as well. 

“I’m not sure what I’ll do with you then – perhaps sell you. To Crowley, to Hannah, maybe? Or anyone that wants you. I can imagine the places you’ll end up, the people or things that would end up owning you. Your suffering would be…intense.”

The two angels were almost within striking distance now, and Dean saw Vincent getting ready to fight. He felt himself tense. Cas was recovered, but still only alive through stolen Grace. Scrappy little shit that he was, Dean doubted he’d win in a protracted fight with Vincent. Though he could see Cas was angry; it was in the way he held himself, in his eyes; maybe no one else would have seen it but Dean rarely needed more than a quick look these days to know what Cas was thinking or feeling.

It was a skill he’d had to learn, given the angel’s habit of misdirection, omission and little or sometimes not so little white lies. Especially when he was about to take a hit for the team.

Anger gave Cas strength but it could also make him really reckless.

_Don’t you dare_ , he prayed to Cas as hard as he could. _This bastard wouldn’t be here if he thought you’d win. Cas, listen to me_!

Sam made a growling noise through his gag and drew Dean’s attention. Just as well he could read his brother even better than Cas. Sam was shaking his head frantically at him.

Dean got it – Cas was going to fight, he’d never abandon them, but listening to their thoughts in his head was probably a major distraction.

It was on, just like that. Vincent charged Cas, blade arcing through the air. Cas sidestepped and parried, the two weapons meeting with an almost ethereal chime that sounded out of place in what was going to be a fight to the death.

Maybe they were two celestial beings fighting inside of bodies of flesh and blood, but that meant Cas had a height advantage over Vincent and he used it. He pushed down and away and Vincent staggered back, almost losing his footing.

He came straight back at Cas, swinging the blade in tight arcs that kept Cas on his toes, kept pushing him back, as Vincent tried to trap him against the wall, or shelves, anything that might hamper him.

It was working, and each time Cas had to push his way back to the centre of the room while deflecting another attack, Dean could see him tiring more quickly. He wasn’t overflowing with Grace to begin with, and he’d just helped them kill a few vampires. This was going to end badly, unless he did something!

He shut his eyes, hating himself for doing so, but knowing that if he kept watching he couldn’t concentrate on getting free. Dean took a breath and pushed the noise of the fight away and instead focused on picking the lock of his cuffs. He rotated the lock pick carefully, feeling for the click that would tell him he was almost there.

It was frustratingly slow, and a yelp of pain from Cas almost dragged his attention back. But he fought that away as well; he was no good to Cas cuffed to a pillar, or to Sam, because if Vincent succeeded in getting the better of their angel, Dean knew he’d have no hesitation about carrying out his threat.

And suddenly, without warning, the lock pick slid home easily, and the manacles opened and slid off his wrists.

Dean opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. Sam’s posture had changed, in just the tiniest way, but Dean could tell he was free too. He gave Sam a curt nod, and then tore off the tape covering his mouth.

“Hey, assbutt! Why don’t you Kumbaya your ass back to Heaven and start a prayer circle with the rest of the dicks?”

His interruption came at the right time. Vincent had Castiel by the back of the neck, like someone trying to chastise a disobedient pup, and was forcing him down to his knees. He had hold of Castiel’s right wrist in a grip that looked crushing, and kept Cas from stabbing him.

But now he turned to stare at Dean in shock and that gave Cas an opening. He released the blade with his right hand, and caught it with his left before slicing up in a vicious swipe that cut Vincent open from pelvis to sternum.

Vincent screamed and staggered back; Grace gleamed through the cut. It was a bad wound but not a fatal one, but then Dean saw Cas hadn’t meant it to be.

The vial was lying on the floor, the chain cut through, and Cas snatched up it as he clambered to his feet.

“I’ll give you this chance to run,” he told Vincent, and then he smashed the vial on the floor.

Dean and Sam didn’t need to be warned; they’d seen this before. They both darted to whatever cover they could find and shut their eyes. Suddenly, it was like a mini storm had breached the garage. Light flared around them, painting after images on the inside of their eyelids. Heat and pressure buffeted them, but it was over almost as quickly as it had started, and when they carefully came out from behind the crumpled wreck of the car, it was as if something had tipped the garage upside down, sending things clattering every which way.

Cas stood in the middle of it all, light burning in his eyes, his shadow wings flaring out behind them.

Dean felt a little sick staring at them. The first time he’d seen them he had then too, but because he’d just realised he was facing an actual angel, one who’d pulled him out of Hell.

And he’d just sassed the bastard.

Now it was because the damage Cas had taken was right there in front of him. The wings were little more than bone, each one a jointed ridge with a few pathetic feathers gamely hanging on. A couple of them gave up the ghost then, fluttering down and sparking into nothingness before they touched the ground.

Then the shadow wings were gone, and Vincent – Vincent who was clearly too dumb or too full of hate to take the chance Cas had given him – came roaring back into the fight, the blade raised above his head.

Castiel met him calmly, grabbing his wrist and tucking himself into the other angel’s body. He twisted Vincent across and over, sending him slamming into the ground. Then he put his foot on Vincent’s chest, and Dean saw that Cas had disarmed him in the same instant.

“If I ever see you again,” Castiel told him, “if I ever find you near them again, I will kill you for it.”

“The ever merciful and forgiving Castiel,” Vincent sneered at him. “So noble. So pathetic. Do you think I’ll just go away, Castiel? Like a bad dream? We have unfinished business, you and I. So maybe not today, or tomorrow, but one day you’ll try to call one of these humans and they won’t answer. Or you’ll turn around and they were there but then they won’t be. And you’ll know then, Castiel, that I came for them. And you’ll know that I’ll be coming for you next.

“I actually think it would be more pleasurable to hurt you in front of them, to let them hear you scream.”

“You won’t touch them,” Cas said. “Not today or tomorrow, or ever.”

He stepped back, a blade in each hand, and Dean felt a surge of frustration. No way Cas was letting this dick go, not after everything. He was due a reckoning. He started forward; if Cas wasn’t going to kill him, then he would, even if he had to use his bare hands to do it.

“How will you stop me, Castiel? I had you naked and helpless in my hands, and you couldn’t save yourself, but you think you can protect-“

Sam moved without warning; he caught Cas off guard, which was the only way he could have managed to snatch one of the angel blades from him. Then he dropped to his knees and rammed it into Vincent’s chest.

Vincent screamed. Light flared out of him and when it cleared his wings were burned into the ground beneath him.

Cas stared in horror first at Vincent, and then at Sam. Sam slid the angel blade into his pocket. He couldn’t look up, not at first, but then he forced himself to meet Castiel’s gaze.

“He was never going to leave us alone, Cas. And this is the angel that tortured you half to death. Somebody was going to kill him.”

Dean didn’t miss the pointed glance Sam threw at him, or the way Cas turned slowly to stare as well.

They were right, and he knew it. He’d been seconds away from trying to wrest one of the blades from Cas and then seeing how Vincent liked being sliced into. Sam… Sam had stolen that from him, and while the Mark was angry, and Dean was too, he was also sorry that Sam had to do that, but so damn grateful at the same time he couldn’t handle everything crushed up inside him.

“Let’s…,” he started, but he had to stop and get himself under control as best he could. “Let’s clean this shit up and then go home.”


	17. Chapter 17

It seemed to take longer on the way back than it had coming out to the motel. They’d done the best clean up job they could. They’d wiped the CCTV footage, which showed pretty much what they’d suspected. Some vampires had hit the place – taking advantage of its location – and that had drawn Barry in and then Vincent had taken advantage of that. Dean wondered if he’d somehow orchestrated the vampire attack or just been lucky enough to find a nest and then waited for nature to take its course. Waited for a hunter to show and then taken it from there.

One phone call – hell, maybe Barry hadn’t kept their number, maybe Vincent had mind melded with Cas to get it – and he’d had them where he wanted them.

It had been too damn close.

They’d found a couple of dead bodies, probably guests or staff, and burned them along with the vampires. After that Cas had used his Grace to eliminate any fingerprints or DNA they might have left and that was as good as they could do, as little trace as they’d ever left behind after a hunt.

Now, Sam was sleeping in the back seat, and Cas was riding shotgun.

Dean had left the music off to let Sam rest while he could, and because he didn’t feel like listening to it just then.

He didn’t want to talk either, but that was one of the good things about having Cas sitting up front with him. Cas didn’t talk a lot, and even when he had something to say he mostly just spit it out and had done with it.

But just because he didn’t want to talk, it didn’t mean there weren’t things he knew he had to say.

“I would have killed him for you, you know,” he said, after he knew he had to get it out. “I mean, I would have cut that bastard up first, just sliced him open like he did you, made him feel what it was like to be hurt and helpless.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to do that, Dean.”

“You can’t help be an angel, can you? You’re allowed to get mad, Cas. You’re allowed to want revenge on people who scared and hurt you. Whether you’re human or not.”

Cas glanced at him. “I am….I was angry, Dean. And I did want revenge. But I’ve killed so many angels, and not just when I absorbed the souls from Purgatory. It seems all I’ve done these past few years is murder my own kind. I didn’t want to do it again.”

“So the angel you choose to let go is the one with the knife kink.”

“It doesn’t matter now, though, does it? And I wasn’t going to let him go. Not once I realised he was never going to stop pursuing you, Sam. Us.”

So, he would have got there before Dean, but Sam had got there before either of them. If Cas thought something was wrong with him, then it was the same thing that was wrong with all three of them. They all wanted Vincent dead to protect the other two, maybe get some kind of revenge for the pain he’d inflicted – on Cas directly, on them by extension. 

Sam had just got in there first, and stopped Dean adding to the tally of things he’d fed to the Mark.

“Where does this leave you, then? I mean, with Hannah and the others.”

It was maybe a shitty question and a shitty time to ask it, but if they were going to send anybody else after them, he wanted to know. And he also wanted to know what Cas planned to do. If he’d try to go back.

“I think Vincent acted on his own. Though if they find out we killed him, they will probably try to deal with us. But I removed any trace of us from the motel; even they won’t know what happened to him.”

He didn’t miss the smooth way Cas managed to answer the question and totally avoid it at the same time. “What I meant was, are you ever going back?”

He didn’t realise he was holding his breath, waiting for Cas to either bolster or break him.

Cas smiled, but Dean didn’t miss the way it wasn’t all happy though it wasn’t all sad either.

“If my family and my home is here, then why would I go back there?”

It was so tentative, like he was afraid of rebuke, that Dean couldn’t speak straight away. He forced himself, aware that any delay would seem like a rejection to the angel.

“So don’t go back. Stay with us, Cas. Stay with me. Look, I… Hannah had me pegged right. I’ve been shit at taking care of you and Sam, especially these past few years. I don’t know how it went so wrong, man. And the Mark… It’s going to get worse. Maybe the best thing is for you to just take Sam and get the hell away from me, but I need you two. I’m not saying there won’t come a time when you both need to go, but we’re not there yet and I can’t get through this without you. Without my family.”

He knew that wasn’t everything he had to say, but he had to start somewhere. God, there was so much more though; Sam had seen it, and clearly the angels had too though they let their imaginations get a little ahead of them.

It felt too fragile yet to try and pin it down with words, but those hours when he’d thought he’d never see Cas again…when he knew he was hurting and scared, and had no way to get to him… 

It had almost been his undoing and he knew if it happened again, it would finish the job. Without Cas, without Sam, he had no reason to fight to stay human. They were everything of value in his life and if they were suddenly gone from it, he knew he’d want the Mark to take him.

It’d be easier, because he wouldn’t be him then and the pain of their loss would belong to someone he used to be.

He dropped his hand to the seat between him and Cas, but it was too bold, too risky to hope Cas might meet him halfway, that he might feel the angel’s hand settle over his own, so he settled instead for resting it on Cas’s shoulder.

“You won’t have to get through this without us,” Cas said. “I may not be able to promise you much, Dean, but I can promise you that.”

**

Sam stirred as they parked the car, and unfolded himself from the back seat. He nodded blearily at them, said goodnight and started walking in the wrong direction.

Cas caught him before he could stray too far and turned him gently towards Dean.

“Come on, dude,” Dean grinned at him. “You’re gonna fall on one of us and crush us to death if we don’t get you into bed.”

He guided his brother downstairs and then saw him safely along to his room. Cas trailed behind, close enough that he could catch Sam if he did indeed stumble. But Sam made it safely to bed, and Dean tossed the blankets over him and retreated quietly back into the hall.

“You tired?” he said, almost whispered, to Cas.

“No,” Cas said. “I thought I might be, after what happened. But I feel…settled, somehow.”

Dean could figure out why; it had to have been playing on Cas’s mind, what would happen next with Vincent. Would he come after him again? What about Devorah and Hannah? Or even the Rit Zien, if they thought him so badly damaged.

And now he didn’t have to be afraid, not of Vincent at least. And probably not of Devorah or Hannah. Hannah had helped them escape, and Devorah’s intentions had been to reset him, not kill him.

Dean wasn’t sure if Devorah would abandon her plans for Cas now, but he was sure of one thing – she’d have to go through him first if she didn’t.

“Ok, good,” he said. He yawned loudly. “I’m beat. What do you want to do? I know you don’t sleep, but I can put you in one of the bedrooms.”

Cas hesitated. He looked away, then glanced back shyly at Dean. “I don’t particularly want to be by myself right now.”

Dean tried to pretend like that comment didn’t start something tingling inside of him. “Afraid of nightmares?” he said, aiming for a teasing tone. He actually wouldn’t have blamed Cas if that were the truth.

“I don’t need sleep anymore, Dean,” Cas retorted, waspishly. “So I can’t have nightmares, but essentially…yes. I don’t want to think about what happened, in Heaven, or tonight. But I’ll be fine. If you don’t mind, I’ll use one of your laptops….”

“I mind,” Dean said. He grabbed Cas’s arm. No way was he being that much of a dick to leave Cas alone in the bunker while he and Sam slept. He was presuming he even could sleep, no matter how tired he was. “You’re not sitting up by yourself. Look…why don’t you crash in next to me? You can watch the laptop, or sleep, or not-sleep. Hell, you can even do what you used to and stare at me all night. What do you think?”

He kept it light, hoping Cas couldn’t pick up on how badly he wanted him to say yes. He needed the reassurance too, of having Cas next to him, of knowing he was safe. And having Cas close…it seemed to keep the Mark under control, push it down somehow.

“Alright,” Cas said, and Dean knew he was grinning soppily at him, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He led Cas along the corridor.

“You know we’re going to set you up with your own room in here. You can pick any one you like. I know, like you said, you don’t sleep, but it’s pretty cool to have your own space, Cas. I guess they didn’t have rooms in Heaven.”

“Not in the way you suggest,” Cas said. “Chambers more than anything, although I suppose each personal Heaven could be considered a room. But no, I didn’t have one of my own. No angel did – there was no need to.”

Dean was glad he was walking a little ahead of Cas, so the angel couldn’t see his face. There was no point feeling sorry for Cas, and he knew it – it was just how angels lived and Cas probably hadn’t known anything better until he was ordered into their lives.

Suddenly, Dean was determined to make up for all the things Cas hadn’t had before. A home. A decent family. A place of safety where he wasn’t just waiting for orders, or being mind wiped when whatever he’d learned, or figured out, or was fodder for rebellion, was too inconvenient to let him keep.

He paused, a sudden flare of anger squashing the urge to look after Cas. Could he? Give Cas any of those things? A lot of shit had happened to Cas before he’d even known the angel existed. But even more of it had happened since, and all of it led back to him, to Sam. Every hit Cas had taken, from fighting with Alistair, through to his breaking faith with Heaven and beyond, had all been for them. 

And all Dean had given him in return was more of the same. Maybe it was too damn late to start thinking of protecting Cas, of looking after him. Where the hell had that compulsion been when he was letting Cas carve sigils into his own damn chest, when he hadn’t spotted that Crowley had his hooks in the angel? 

When he’d shoved Cas out the door of the bunker, not even taking time to set him up with some cash, a fake card, a contact he could stay with until things got sorted out with Gadreel?

And then he’d shown up back in Cas’s life and because he was too much of a freaking coward to say what he felt, he’d mocked Cas for managing to get a job as a gas station attendant.

Keep Cas safe. Decent Family. Good one, Dean. Hell of a punch line.

And then he heard Cas’s tentative, “Dean?”, and he felt even worse. Because he knew when he turned around, he’d see Cas looking confused and hurt, and doubtful, because he’d take Dean’s hesitance as him changing his mind, and probably think he was about to be shown the door.

Again.

He couldn’t do that, he wouldn’t, not this time. Cas was too good, he mattered too much, and maybe he couldn’t make it up to the angel for any of the crap he’d gone through before, but he could start over.

Dean turned and sure enough Cas looked like he was broken and about to start once again to pick up the pieces of himself after somebody with the surname Winchester had just smashed him apart. He was in Cas’s space without any warning, the instinct to protect and to comfort overtaking him. And to claim, because Cas was his, and he was tired of dancing around it.

He eased Cas back against the wall, bringing his hand up to cup the back of the angel’s head. When he kissed him, he felt the gasp of surprise against his lips, but it was ok, he’d make Cas realise this was something he didn’t have to be shocked over. Something he could have again, as often as he wanted.

It didn’t surprise him when there wasn’t much of a return interaction. He’d probably stunned Cas, and despite that one night that Dean was determined to forget about, he knew Cas wasn’t exactly experienced in this.

He backed off, a little, reluctantly, and dropped one hand to the back of Cas’s neck while the other grabbed the lapel of his trenchcoat.

“Don’t ever think I’ll change my mind over you,” he said. He felt light headed, and he knew he sounded breathless. He was; he actually felt like he couldn’t get enough air into him, and he wondered that Cas didn’t seem to realise this was the effect he had him on. This and others.

Cas, for once, seemed speechless. He managed a nod, and then Dean pushed him ahead and into his room.

**

Dean woke up to find the space next to him on the bed was empty.

He sagged back, staring at the ceiling. Ok, he should have expected that. Cas wasn’t stupid; maybe it had taken him longer to push through the crazy sense of devotion he had for them, to realise everything Dean had himself last night.

That this was all too little, too late, and probably not going to last anyway.

Because he had to face it; he was a screw up. That was the only thing he was consistent at. That and letting the bottom line determine how he treated the people in his life.

The Mark was just a new complication, and he was still trying to drag Cas into all of this. If he really cared about the angel, he would have sent him away and got him to take Sam too.

He wasn’t worthy of them, especially not when he was little more than a wild animal with no idea what it would take to set him off.

If Cas had wised up and gone, he should be grateful. The thought carved through him, started a pain in his chest that stole his breath away, but he should be grateful.

He couldn’t hurt Cas if the angel wasn’t in his life. 

The irony that he could send Cas away when he needed to stay, but couldn’t manage to do it when it was for the angel’s own safety…that just ramped up the guilt. Add selfish to the list of his faults, then. 

He rubbed angrily at his eyes when he felt the sting of tears. Fuck, now this. Like none of this was of his own making. Cas would be ok, would be better than ok without having to worry about him, or being at risk because of him.

This was for the best.

Except he still ached and maybe more so because he’d been stupid enough last night to think there was even a point to reaching out to his angel. He hoped that hadn’t made it harder for Cas to go, but who was he kidding? Cas had to know that whatever Dean offered wasn’t worth sticking around for, not when it was transient.

Cas was better off out of this. He was.

He heard a light footfall in the corridor, realised his door was open and that Sam would see him and probably start trying to talk about feelings. But it sounded like Sam was trying to sneak up, instead of being his usual bigfoot self - maybe he thought Dean was sleeping.

Maybe he could pretend to be.

“Dean?”

He shot up so fast he almost toppled out of the bed. “Cas?”

Cas was standing in the doorway. He had a plate with a sandwich in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other, and he was staring at him with open concern. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

Fuck. Dean looked down, away, anywhere but at Cas. So he’d called that one way wrong, and no matter what he’d told himself he hadn’t seen anything better than Cas standing there looking worried about him. For him.

“I…Yeah, you know, nothing, I’m fine.”

Cas came in and put down the plate and the mug on Dean’s table. “You’re not fine.”  
He nudged Dean over and sat down on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

Dammit, Cas was going to make him do this. But fresh start and all, right? No more avoiding what he felt, what he wanted to say because it meant trying to be open and honest on things he’d previously have shoved down and ignored.

“I’m sorry, ok? I just woke up and you weren’t here and I thought….”

Cas looked angry, briefly, and Dean dropped his gaze again. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not annoyed at you, Dean,” Cas said. He slid his hand under Dean’s chin and tilted it up so that Dean had to look at him. “I should have waited until you woke up, but I couldn’t remember when you last ate. I’m annoyed at myself. Ok, maybe a little at you. I’m not going to leave you. I don’t know why you think I would.”

“Really?” Dean pulled back. “Cas, take a look at me. What the hell have I got to offer you? And all the shit that’s happened to you, that’s on me. Don’t even give me that angelic forgiveness crap. We both know I’ve put you through the wringer and you deserved better than that. You still do, which is why this… This is just a bad idea.”

He wasn’t ready for Cas taking him roughly by the shoulders and shaking him. “What have I got to offer you?” he demanded. “The only thing I actually own is my blade. This body, though it’s a copy. These clothes I’m wearing, though they’re copies also. In that sense, none of them are really mine. They aren’t mine, Dean.”

“They are now,” Dean protested, because this was the last thing he’d wanted, to send Cas spiralling into a guilt spin. “Cas, you didn’t kill Jimmy. He got killed, the same as you did.”

“Because I took advantage of his faith, his desire to serve a greater power, to do good. And he paid for that, as did his family.”

“Hold up.” Dean shrugged out of Cas’s grip. “Last time I looked, you paid as well. Or are you going to pretend Zachariah didn’t have you snatched so you couldn’t warn me and Sam about what they had planned? Or that Raphael didn’t kick the shit out of you for daring to stand up to him? Fuck, Cas, I think Inias is the only angel who’s ever treated you half way decent. Maybe Gadreel, in the end. But that’s it.”

Cas looked away and Dean felt his frustration grow stronger. Cas was always so ready to forgive others, and to forgive any ill treatment he suffered. But he never seemed to get around to forgiving himself, and Dean figured all the things he’d done, whether he’d been right or wrong, no matter if his intentions had been good or he’d been misled or manipulated, were still festering away inside him.

It was a hell of a weight to bear and Dean wanted to wrest it from him, to strip it away and dump it somewhere so that Cas never had to look at it again.

“I will never be able to make up for what I’ve done,” Cas said, quietly, and Dean knew it probably didn’t matter what he said. Cas knew better than to just trust in his words; so often he’d said one thing to the angel and then done the exact opposite. He didn’t plan to do that again, but for now maybe Cas didn’t need to hear any more talk.

He reached up and stretched his arm across Castiel’s shoulders. The angel glanced warily at him, and Dean struggled not to roll his eyes. Maybe one or two words, then.

“Come here,” he said.

He manoeuvred Cas until the angel was lying on his side, body flush against his own, and he had him held tight in his arms. It was like holding onto a concrete block at first, the way Cas was rigid and tense, as if he didn’t know quite what this was about or what he was meant to do.

Dean sighed and leaned forward to nuzzle gently at Cas’s neck. He exhaled, breath warm against Cas’s skin, and held on. It would just take getting Cas used to this. That what Dean was offering wasn’t something he’d then quickly retract, snatch away when Cas had allowed himself to be vulnerable for it. To want it.

He rested a hand over the angel’s heart, splayed his fingers and felt the beats beneath his touch. It was a little fast, and Dean wished Cas could just relax and trust him. But he knew he’d have to prove to Cas that he could, and he was ok with that. 

Cas deserved it, was worth any effort it might take.

Dean held him a little tighter, but it was only when Cas brought a hand up to cover his own that he finally fell easy enough to sleep again.

One thing, though, and he fought back a grin he knew the angel couldn’t see but would probably sense.

“Cas…. Did you kind of offer me your body? And your clothes?”

There was a brief silence, and he felt Cas tense then relax again in his hold. 

“Go back to sleep, Dean.”

“Cause that’s sweet and all but your clothes – they’re probably not gonna fit.”

“ _Dean_.”

**Author's Note:**

> For an SPN Kink meme prompt:
> 
> _The angels come to the conclusion that the reason Castiel choses Dean over Heaven is because Dean seduced him and Castiel fell to the sins of flesh and the emotional confusion it brings. Except Castiel and Dean still haven't admitted their feelings for each other. The capture Castiel and bring him back to heaven. The angels punish and reeducate him however the author sees fit. But, then there is Hannah, she shows him compassion and understanding and although she won't help him escape she manages to give him respite. Except that is also part to the manipulation, they want Castiel to be emotionally tied to an angel so that he will go back to the fold and leave the Winchesters behind._
> 
> _It all comes crashing down when Dean storms heaven to get back his angel._


End file.
